Crossed Eagle
by The-Stupidest-Author-Ever
Summary: The Colonial Assassins have fallen. There is no one to continue the fight for freedom. Selah, a young Assassin apprentice, is the only survivor of the Purge. The Templars offer to spare her life on one condition: she must swear loyalty to the Cross and learn their ways. Now the young girl is torn between what she believes in and what is reality.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, everyone! I've been wanting to write an Assassin's Creed fanfiction for a while now, and after having several ideas, I felt most confident with this one. After exploring the history of ****_Assassin's Creed 3 _****(and the reveal of ****_Rouge_****) I wondered what would happen if an Assassin survived the French and Indian War and was forced to join the Templars.**

**I plan to involve all the American Templars in this (including a couple Multiplayer characters) and of course there will be Assassins. Considering the nature of this fiction I don't know how popular it's going to be, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do Assassin's Creed nor Ubisoft. I only own OCs.**

**Warnings: rated M for explicit death, violence, swearing, situations of angst (other warnings may appear)**

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><p>Selah panted as a layer of sweat covered her skin, forcing her already warm clothes to stick to her body. Her muscles were sore and aching, but she ignored her discomfort.<p>

_Focus. Balance. Stay sharp._

Suddenly a flash of metal appeared from the darkness, streaking across her vision. The young girl instinctively ducked, having the blade miss the top of her head by millimeters. Without looking up, she lunged forward, thrusting out her own sword. Her reward was a gurgled cry and a warm substance covering her arm. She retracted her weapon, but it was stuck in some stubborn sheathe. Selah gave a stubborn tug of her own, finally recalling her sword but the momentum enough to send her stumbling backwards.

Her chest was heaving. Her vision was dark and blurry. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. She couldn't think clearly, only a single train of thought kept repeating in her mind.

_Focus. Balance. Stay Sharp._

Desperate to gain some grasp on reality, Selah observed at her arm, still clutching her French cutlass. It was red with blood. But it wasn't her blood. Glancing across her body, she found several more crimson stains littering her robes. Her search led the girl to her feet. A man. A corpse.

He was Caucasian with a rugged, ugly appearance. The man was dressed in plain brown trousers and leather jacket, a tricorne hat sitting crookedly on his head. It was the "uniform" of the mercenaries he served. But that outfit was ruined by the large pool of blood on his chest, pouring onto the ground beneath him. Light glinted off his glazed eyes.

Wait. Light? That wasn't right. Selah knew it was well beyond nightfall. Then she felt the heat.

It was a warm mid-summer night, but this sensation was too intense, despite the humidity. Selah whirled around towards the source of a searing heat that burned into her side. She was met with a giant wall of scarlet and orange, rising high into the night sky. The wall was dancing, shifting and turning to its own music. A music accompanied by a distinct crackling and loud roar. Fire.

Selah stared at the great flames with horror, eyes wide. The blaze completely consumed the house it fed on, barely a silhouette of the building visible. Selah wanted to cry. She knew that house. She had read books in there. She had laughed in there. She had spent nights in that house.

Realizing again her thoughts were slipping, she whirled around in an attempt to gain her surroundings. Shadows and darkness were all around her, the silhouettes of the guarding forest barely recognizable. Instead she saw infernos of light of ranging sizes through the trees. The entire village was being burned.

Selah closed her eyes, trying to focus her senses. But she was only greeted with sounds of war. She could hear distant screams of fearful civilians, the cracking of muskets and canons, and the roar of determined warriors. Selah snapped her eyes open, whirling around again. She had to do something.

Analyzing her surroundings, somehow through the brilliant light of the fire and shadows of the night, she recognized a large silhouette taking up the hill above her. The manor. Even with the roar of the blaze, the girl could hear the sounds of battle coming from there. Clashing of metal, vicious battle cries… the screams of death. She had to help.

Without a second thought, Selah sheathed her bloody sword and sprinted forward. A steep ravine stood between her and the manor, but thankfully she found a better route. A large, sturdy tree towered above the rocky incline, its green branches hanging over the top of the hill. A network of stubs left from broken branches climbed the trunk, reaching all the way to the adult limbs above.

Without hesitation, Selah bounded off the ground and attached herself to the base of the tree. Quickly and carefully as she could, the girl used the protruding stumps like the footholds of a ladder and she scaled the height of the tower. She was never particularly good with tree-climbing, but she had much better things to worry about.

Finally the teenaged girl heaved herself on a large, sturdy branch, gasping with breath. She ignored the dozens of splinters impeded in her hands. The sounds were much louder here. Using the balance gained after years of training, she crawled across the limb, heels digging into the wood. At its edge, she settled in place to watch the horrid scene below her.

Writhing figures covered every square inch of the ground, dressed in many shades of robes and the tattered rags of the mercenaries. Of the Templars. Selah watched as her Assassin brothers fought with all their spirit and strength, cutting down their enemy two to three at a time. But it wasn't enough. The Templars clearly outnumbered the Assassins. And while the Assassins struggled to keep going, whenever a weary mercenary was cut down, a fresh one would take his place. With every streak of metal and flash of a firearm, a life was lost.

Selah looked directly below her to see a Templar and an Assassin quarreling, the mercenary's back to her. The Assassin apprentice repositioned on her heels, unsheathing her sword. She fell from the branch, plunging her blade into the Templar's neck.

Selah had expertly landed on top of him so the corpse would cushion her fall, but the force of the impact still racked her body. Panting and clutching her weapon, she glanced up at the older Assassin above her.

James Crawford. Her brother. Her teacher. Her _mentor_.

He didn't fare much better than her. His usually neat hair was unkempt and wild, with his usually calm and collected gaze being darkened and cold. Still, he forced himself to let out winded speech.

"Are you alright?" he demanded.

"Y-yes," Selah stammered.

James was already turning away. "Come. We've work to do."

Automatically Selah ripped the sword from her work and jumped to her teacher's side. Moving as one, they raced back into the battlefield. Immediately the Assassins were completely surrounded by the mob of fighting men and women. Weapons flailed in every direction, forcing Selah to dodge every few seconds. There was no spare room, having her brush up against jerking bodies, but they paid her no mind. They were too distracted. Already she lost sight of James, who was swallowed up by the fray. But it didn't become too much of a problem as Selah was already joining the battle herself.

A Templar had noticed her and was lunging towards her. With supreme reflexes, she twisted and plunged her sword through his abdomen, making sure to slice his spine. The man let out a gasp and fell limp. Selah immediately removed her sword. Then all she had to do was turn around to face her next opponent.

This time it was a dark-shinned man nearing her, swinging his axe with a yell. He slammed it down over her head, but Selah expertly deflected it. She skirted to the side away from the range of his weapon and where his side was completely exposed. The Assassin flicked a hand out, a small metal blade ejecting from her wrist. The blade disappeared between the man's ribs, having him cry out in agony.

He desperately moved away, forcing the blade back out. He stumbled as he clutched his deep wound, blood seeping through his fingers. However in his misery he had lowered his weapon and left himself completely defenseless. Selah took advantage of that by slashing across his chest. He fell to the ground just as the teenager heard a scream behind her.

The Assassin whirled around, and what she saw made her chest clench. The still body of a female Assassin lay of the ground, a scrawny mercenary above her, bayonet of his musket still buried in her chest. A wicked sneer twisted his scarred face. Selah snarled in fury and lunged forward.

The bastard didn't even know what was happening as the Assassin jumped behind him and slit his throat with her hidden blade. Hand on his shoulder, she shoved him away so the man's corpse wouldn't fall on the Assassin. All it took was a glance at her sister to confirm she was dead.

Her chest clenched again, but she tried her best to ignore it. It was hard. The warrior turned to find another opponent for redemption, but she only froze. The body of an Assassin momentarily blocked her view before they moved away, revealing a terrible scene.

It was her teacher, James Crawford. But something was wrong. His face was screwed with pain and he clutched his chest, blood pouring through his hands. The man was on his knees and nearly doubled over. Above him was a tall, broad mercenary. He was more equipped than his comrades, wearing thicker clothing and a large of pack of supplies—mostly weapons—on his back. An axe balanced in his hands, larger than the one before. Selah saw him reposition the weapon in his arms, mostly likely to prepare to behead his victim.

"_No_!" Selah screamed. The girl had never run so fast in her life. She practically flew—feeling her feet leave the ground only to land beside the giant of a man.

Without hesitation, the Assassin swiped her cutlass at him, slicing his side. The man let out a throaty, startled yell and stumbled away. Selah almost smiled in relief that he had gotten him away from her master… but now he focused on her. And he was easily almost three times her size.

The mercenary showed an angry snarl before raising his axe again. He swiped it at Selah's abdomen, but she lithely dodged it. But before she could retaliate, the beast of a man swung the axe again, this time lifting it above his head with one hand to gain deadly momentum. Just as the blade was about to make contact with her head, Selah lunged forward in a desperate dodge.

She rolled past the man, who was stepping forward to keep up with the force he made. Landing in a crouch, she quickly twisted and made a slash at the monster's leg. The man bellowed, but stayed on his feet and spun around to face her. Selah scrambled to her feet to meet him.

This time she was on the offensive as she swiped her sword downwards toward the man, but apparently he had greater defense than she thought. Before the cutlass could slice into his shoulder, the giant's oversized hand enveloped her forearm. Selah squeaked and try to pull away, but she knew it was useless. Just as quickly as he had seized her, the man brought up the hand with the axe, slamming its butt into her temple.

Selah crashed onto the ground with a strangled cry. Her vision was darkened and doubled with shaky knees, but somehow she was still conscious. Forcing her body to move, she slightly rolled over to peer up at her opponent.

The man was giving her a dark glare as he raised his axe far above his head with both hands. Selah gave a sharp breath. She knew she would die if that blade touched her. Her body realized this, too.

It moved on its own as she leapt to her feet and struck her sword, plunging it into the Templar's heart. His face fell as death claimed him, axe still raised in his hands. She moved too fast for him to react.

Thankfully he fell backwards, falling with a heavy thud. If he had crashed onto her, his weight could've killed her. But there were more important problems.

James was now lying on the ground, hands still clutching his chest and face buried in the dirt. With little regard of her surroundings, Selah streaked towards him, letting out a cry.

"_James_!"

Letting go of her sword, she landed beside him. He didn't react to her approach, but his shoulders were heaving with heavy labor. Selah gently rolled him over, only for bile to rise to her throat.

A large gash spread across his chest, blood cascading across his pristine white and blue robes. Judging by the darkness of the liquid, the wound was deep. Very deep. Now Selah was becoming hysterical, wrapping an arm under his neck and unable to hide her pitch.

"No, no, no," she begged. "Come on, stay with me."

James only choked on his own blood.

"_Stay with me_!" Selah demanded, her voice rising to a sharp screech and tears rolling down her cheeks. "I can't do this without you!"

Finally James cracked a smile, his perfectly straight white teeth contrasting greatly with the crimson around his lips. His brown eyes shined even with their dullness.

"Of course you can," he argued. His voice was so strained… "I have faith in you."

Selah only shook her head. "Please don't leave me…"

James raised a shaky hand and placed it on her cheek. "You're an Assassin now, Selah. Be strong. Don't lose faith in the Brotherhood." He was interrupted by another mouthful of blood. "As long as there's a free mind in this world—which there will always be—the Assassins will survive. Even if we are grind to dust… we will live…" His words were losing their strength and his eyes were dulling. "Do not die tonight, Selah. You must… live. Do not… give up…"

Selah's grip tightened and a lump appeared in her throat as she realized her mentor was slipping. But before she could give one more plea, he gave a final sigh and the life from his gaze faded.

"James!" Selah gasped. "James!" She shook him like a child trying to wake their parent. He did not stir. "_MENTOR!"_

She let out a pained scream that echoed across the battlefield, not caring who heard. The Assassin did not stop her tears and sobbed over her master's chest. He had recruited her into the Brotherhood… He had saved her from starvation… He taught her all she knew. James was more to her than a brother or a teacher… he was like her father.

If the situation was different, she would've hugged his body and cried into the night. But she was offered no such luxury. Reluctantly, shakily, she pulled away from James's body, still sobbing. She forced a hand to close his eyes, murmuring a prayer. Then the young apprentice's trembling fingers wrapped around the handle of her sword and she lifted herself onto wobbly legs. She turned to force herself to continue, but she only stopped dead.

On the edge of the battlefield was a man. He observed the conflict with cold, dark eyes from his perch on a large black stallion. He wore a navy-blue coat, untouched by the grime of war. A tricorne hat of the same shade rested on his head, perfectly straight and placed. A regal cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, an elegant design decorating its back. Selah knew who he was. Haytham Kenway, Grandmaster of the Templar Colonial Rite.

All of this was his doing. His fault. _He _had killed her master.

Selah slowly turned to him, eyes shadowed by the rim of her hood. _Focus. Balance. Stay sharp. Be strong. Live. _Her grip tightened around her cutlass. She braced. She took off.

Selah sprinted across the parched ground, charging towards her target with reckless abandon. All she thought of was his death. A deafening thunder interrupted her, followed by a sharp pain in her arm. It was enough to send her stumbling to the ground, gripping her bleeding wound.

Next to the Grandmaster was another man upon a brown-speckled horse, musket in hand still smoking. His pitch-dark hair was messy and a bushy mustache hid his lips. His clear blue eyes were dark as he glared at her, but they still glinted with sadism and his face twisted in a wicked sneer. Selah glanced up to see the Grandmaster had finally noticed her, peering at her from under his hat. At first she couldn't see his eyes, but then he tilted his head. She locked with his gaze. It was dark, frigid, piercing. He would kill her without remorse.

_Be strong. LIVE._

Live. She had to live. Her master's final plea. No… she couldn't do this anymore. There was no way she could keep fighting. No way to kill the Grandmaster. Not without breaking James's will.

With trembling lips, she climbed to feet, her arm dangling. The Assassin and Templar stared at each other a moment more. Selah ran.

She blocked out the dying screams of the Assassins and the sadistic laughter of the Templars as she plunged into the forest. All of the pain she owned disappeared as she sprinted, flying across the forest floor. The girl did not know how far she ran, but it wasn't long before the light of the fire faded into darkness which was eventually replaced by moonlight pouring through the canopy. Never once did Selah slow down. But it still wasn't enough.

The numbness was just starting to set into her legs when suddenly the thunder of hooves echoed behind her. Her organs twisted and she tried to spur herself faster, but it was no use. The pounding was steadily growing louder… closer… The baying of a horse almost deafened her when suddenly the thundering was upon her.

Without warning, a force slammed into her shoulder, forcing her to crash onto the ground with a cry. She landed face-first and her arms failed to catch her fall. The impatient snorts and pounding of a stallion filled her hearing. The Assassin forced herself to look up, only to see a flash of red in the darkness.

Red… The color of the Devil.

Selah tried to climb to her feet as her pursuer circled the horse around to near her. The girl heard a thud as the rider fell from the horse and the crunching of leaves as they stormed to her. Using the last of her energy, the Assassin apprentice surged forward into the forest.

She only let out a yell of protest when a strong hand wrapped around her arm. It was her wounded arm, but thankfully not the wound itself. It was still painful enough to force her to still. It was enough for her captor to launch her back and allowed another arm to wrap around her neck. She snarled as her hands shot up to the foreign limb, trying to tear it away. It was of no use.

Immediately Selah's labor thickened and the darkness around her vision grew. She screamed and flailed, but she was quickly losing control. Hot breath panted on her ear.

"Sshh…" a voice coaxed. "Calm down. I won't kill you."

Selah was beginning to lose feeling in her body as it fell limp. She panting slowed. Her captor realized this and continued to hush her.

"That's it… go to sleep now…"

Selah's world disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**I like to start off with thanking those who faved/followed this story so quickly. It really encourages my writing and hope you continue to enjoy this fanfiction. I will warn you now that I am ****_terrible _****with update schedules, but I plan for this one to be 1-2 weeks depending on my inspiration. But I'll apologize now for any inconveniences. Thanks so much again and with that, on with the show!**

**Additional warning: This fanfiction contains some racial slurs. Please don't kill me; remember the times these guys live in, I'm only making it realistic.**

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><p>The Assassin fell limp in Haytham's arms with a moan. The man gave a weary sigh as he gently repositioned her in his hold. Her robes were completely ruined: dried blood and grime stained the white cloth and tears littered across her body. She was now deathly still when moments ago she had been shaking with exhaustion.<p>

Poor thing. Haytham truly pitied her. He did.

With a grunt of effort, he slipped his free arm under her knees and lifted her. His stallion was still shifting in place, obviously displeased being forced into the sudden sprint. When he neared the animal, he gently dropped the Assassin's legs to snatch the horse's reins. Quickly receiving the message, the beast went still.

Assured the horse wouldn't be any trouble, Haytham thought how to get the Assassin onto the saddle. He certainly wasn't going to toss her over and tie her up like some sort of packaging. Instead he had another idea.

Carefully as he could as to not inflict any more harm, he lifted the girl onto the saddle, sprawling her body across the horse's neck. The stallion twitched, but made no movement. Haytham followed her up by placing a foot in a stirrup and heaving himself up with a grunt. Although the girl was unconscious and exhausted, he knew she was still an Assassin, meaning she would remain deadly nonetheless. He pulled out a rope and lifted her body, moving on to tie her hands to the horn of the saddle. To prevent her from falling into an awkward position or off the horse altogether, Haytham wrapped an arm around her midsection and the other gripping the reins. The Assassin's head was slumped on his shoulder, hood still obscuring her face. The Templar ignored the blood still seeping from her wounds.

Assured they were both settled, the Grandmaster gave the horse a gentle squeeze to the sides and soft whistle. The stallion trotted off into the night.

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><p>Haytham Kenway ignored that the night was now deadly silent as he approached two men. Charles Lee was still on his freckled mare while the other was a plump man with graying brown hair. Benjamin Church. He sat upon a dark brown gelding, looking bored. Charles meanwhile sparkled with interest when he noticed his leader was actually successful in catching the runaway Assassin. Benjamin, however, snarled with disgust at the sight.<p>

"What is _that_?" he spat.

Haytham nearly rolled his eyes. "I believe she's an Assassin, Benjamin."

"What she's doing here?"

The Grandmaster halted his horse in front of his men. "I'm bringing her with us."

Charles raised his eyebrows and Benjamin curled his lip in an angry sneer. "Why? You should've killed her."

Haytham ignored the flush of anger in his chest of having his authority challenged. Although Church had seemed a loyal and faithful man when they first met, the senior Templar had been noticing he had become more unreliable and aggressive over the years. But that was a matter for another time. For now there were more important things and Benjamin still did what he was told.

"I believe she may be of use to us," Haytham answered him, his tone light. "Unless you think otherwise?" He gave the surgeon a sharp raise of an eyebrow, inviting him to say more. The Grandmaster's sharp gaze noticed with pleasure the man clenching his jaw, receiving the message.

"No, sir," he grumbled reluctantly.

"Excellent. Now, take her back to headquarters and tend to her wounds."

Benjamin shot up straight and looked like someone had slapped him. "_What_?"

"I need her _alive _and _well_. And I rather have someone I trust care for her."

Haytham honestly didn't have much faith in Benjamin's surgeon skills, knowing full well how he overpaid customers for very little treatment. However, he knew it would take longer to hire another doctor—especially since the Templar Order was preoccupied—and he needed the girl treated as soon as possible. Church would have to do until he could find more proper care.

Benjamin gave a growling sigh and looked more than displeased. However, knowing another verbal refusal would land him in uncharted waters, he reluctantly agreed. "Fine…"

The man however refused to share his horse (the animal probably couldn't hold them both with his weight, anyway), so a nearby group of mercenaries was called over. One agreed to secure the Assassin as Haytham had, so the men quickly transferred the prisoner. After another brief conversation and everyone settled, Benjamin and his men disappeared into the night. Haytham meanwhile steered his stallion around to turn towards Charles.

"Shall we be off, then?" he invited.

Charles gave an obedient nod. The two comrades then trotted off towards their own destination.

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><p>Achilles Davenport sat on a comfortable leather chair in the upstairs study of his home. However, he was far from comfortable as he sat rigidly. He had never felt more weary and aged than he had now, his bones sore and his mind foggy. However, he forced himself to look strong, sitting straight and eyes narrowed in a stern expression. He had to look strong for the men around him, watching him. But they were not friends. These men were Templars.<p>

Staring past his enemy Achilles noticed the broken and overturned items in the room, mostly fallen books and old antiques. Eyeing the small wreckage made him horribly aware of the condition of the rest of manor: the insides ruined with blood and destroyed furniture. They had simply placed him here because it was the cleanest room in the house. It was the result of when the mercenaries stormed the homestead, only to be greeted with defending Assassins.

Achilles tightened his grip on his knee as images of Assassins falling with sprays of blood flashed across his vision. Where were they all? How many had died? How many had died protecting _him_?

The Assassin Mentor couldn't help but be reminded of when his family, his wife and son, had died. He had pleaded with them to stay with him, never leaving their side. He did that for each of them. First his son, Connor, had been claimed by typhoid fever. But before the father could truly mourn, his dear wife, Abigail, attracted the same disease. Achilles had done everything in his power to save her, but she too wasn't strong enough.

The Assassin had never cried so much in his life. Never had his soul been so empty and so broken. But he had still been the Mentor back then, so he knew he couldn't be seen by the other Assassins like that. He compromised by locking himself in the manor and refusing to speak to anyone. When he finally came back out, he could tell by the look of his comrades he had done a poor job of hiding his distraught. The Mentor was broken from his somber thoughts by a noise.

Achilles jolted awake and stared toward the direction of the source. The thud of heavy boots—more than one—neared the entrance of the study. The Assassin could already tell by the stride it was someone of authority. And by the Templars' of the room stiffening posture, he was correct. Even though, he was still unprepared to see the man that walked through the threshold without hesitation.

Haytham Kenway.

Achilles felt himself bristling and he forced himself to suppress a snarl. He narrowed his eyes to slits as he glared at the British noble. The Templar made a show of pretending not to notice as he moved confidently around the room for a moment. But finally the man met the Assassin's gaze, giving a dark and cold glare of his own. The Grandmaster was standing tall and composed, arms tucked behind his back in a regal manner. He knew he had won.

Still, the Templar stared at his prisoner through narrowed eyes. Achilles did the same. The two men stared at each other, leaders of their own organizations that were placed on opposite sides of the political field. Two mortal enemies that should never meet anywhere except on the battlefield. Achilles knew well the Grandmaster could see past his defenses and see the old, broken man he was. Still, Haytham stared at him as if he expected him to grow the wings of their symbolic eagle and fly away.

The old man was so distracted with his staring contest he almost failed to notice another figure entering the room. Almost.

Achilles snapped his neck towards the person to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He was not. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, almost larger than Haytham even though he was well a decade younger. A pitch-black coat with red accents cloaked his body, a large collar almost obscuring his face. He was armed to the teeth, a weapon hanging from almost every part of his body. The man had his raven-black hair tied back and owned just as dark piercing eyes. The black fur of untrimmed whiskers could be seen across his cheek. Achilles recognized him instantly. Shay Cormac. Traitor to the Assassins.

The young man had entered the room and immediately found the closest wall to lean on, firmly pressing his back to it. He crossed his arms over his heart and pressed his chin to his chest, glaring at the floor. Achilles twitched his eyes. The Mentor could still clearly remember their fight on that night. However, the Assassin pulled his gaze away and looked back to Haytham when the man spoke.

"It has been a long time, Mr. Davenport," the Grandmaster finally started formally.

Achilles almost raised an eyebrow. He hadn't remembered ever meeting Haytham Kenway face-to-face in his life. But then the Assassin realized the man was simply looking a way to start the conversation. He followed along.

"It has," he said simply. "And call me Achilles." There was no point in formalities now.

"As you wish," Haytham confirmed. He took a step and tilted his head toward a chair. "May I sit?"

"You may."

Haytham sat, settling much more comfortably than Achilles was. The room went still. The Mentor wanted the silence to drag out. He wanted to say nothing. But his curiosity got the best of him.

"Where are my Assassins?" he blurted.

Haytham shifted and Achilles swore he almost shrugged. "Most are dead. Some captured. Some escaped. But they all have the same fate." The Templar tilted his head. "We have complete control over the entire premises. We have helped ourselves to your armory and supplies, your fleet in the harbor is destroyed, and everyone who lived here is gone." Haytham crossed his legs and placed his hands on the armrests. "Your Brotherhood is dead, Achilles. The Templars are the victors."

The bluntness of the statement was equal to a fired cannonball hitting the aging Mentor. He felt the large hole manifest in his chest, reopened from the death of his family. And this time it would never close. Dead… All of them. Gone. Their entire cause. Their dream of one day bringing freedom to this land shattered. But that's all it ever was. A dream.

The shock of the revelation was quickly being replaced by cold fury, though.

"Why?" Achilles demanded, his voice raised. Haytham simply tilted his head curiously. "Why tell me this? To gloat of your spoils?"

The Assassin knew Kenway has a harsh man, but Achilles never imagined he would be this arrogant.

"That was not my intention, Mentor, I apologize," the Templar explained, though it was more formal than sincere. "I simply wanted you to know the truth—"

"If that is so, then tell me of your plans," Achilles interrupted. "Do you wish to kill me as well?!"

Suddenly the Mentor felt the urge to lunge over and strangle the bastard. To share the same hurt and pain he was feeling—although it would be far too little. Although a cruel logic argued even in his younger days it would be a challenge. And at his age now, getting up would be a task. So the defeated Assassin was forced to sit there and stew, trying to suppress the trembling of anger.

Haytham, meanwhile, cared little for the outburst, continuing on in a leveled voice and a shake of his head. "No, actually. Instead I have a proposition."

"Out with it."

The Grandmaster leaned forward slightly. "I've been told you have a talent for recruiting young minds…" Achilles's eyes flickered to Shay Cormac, who still hadn't moved a muscle. "So I know if we leave tonight, there it a large possibility you will just rebuild your Order."

The Assassin's gaze went back to the Templar. "So you _are_ going to kill me…"

"No. Or rather, I have no desire to. Instead, I propose this: remove yourself from the Assassin Brotherhood, and the Templars will never bring harm to you ever again."

Achilles felt himself bristling. "And why would I agree to that?"

"Because you have no reason to fight. Although it was done by your word, you had little to do with your Order's actions. So why should you take blame for them? And I know of your wife and son—Abigail and Connor—which I am sorry hear that, by the way." Achilles's chest twisted at the mention of his loved ones. Haytham seemed to notice he struck a soft spot, so he continued on in a softer tone. "What will you do, Achilles? Recruit another army just for us to cut it down again? We both know you can't take much more."

Achilles's heart twisted again. He was right… He would recruit more Assassins only for more than half of them to die, only to be replaced by others who would eventually die. What was the point of that? Life was not fair… He and his Assassins were supposed to free the minds of the people and make everyone stand as equal. But how could it be equal when some were chosen to live and others to die?!

Achilles licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. He still felt like he should resist. "And if I refuse your offer?"

"Then I shall kill you right now and this entire homestead will burn," Haytham threatened, not missing a beat. "No one will remember you."

_No one will, anyway, _the Assassin noted bitterly. But Achilles found himself considering it. He could easily refuse. Let the Templars kill him. They were making it very clear he had no reason to live, anyway. But he knew that would give his enemies too much pleasure. To watch everything he worked so hard for to be wiped off the face of the earth.

And then the two tombstones resting on the edge of the hill burned into his mind. What of his family's graves? What of his body? What of the manor that he—a Negro—took pride of having to himself? He didn't care if no one remembered him—but could he really accept everything he knew being wiped from existence?

No, he couldn't do that. If he lived, at least he would have some pride of his possessions and would have the memory of what it once was. Even if it would haunt him. Achilles knew it was selfish. Not to mention cowardly. But hell—didn't he have a right to be?! In this life full of lies and disappointment, couldn't he live with just a few pleasures, even if they were small and meaningless to others?!

Goddamn, why was life this _unfair_?! Achilles's hands made a fist.

"What you say if I no longer serve the Brotherhood and send men to fight you, then you will allow me to keep my life and all of my possessions?"

Haytham nodded. "You have my word."

Achilles Davenport refused to look his enemy in the eye. The hole in his chest widened to his stomach. His voice aged by a decade, becoming strained and hoarse. It would stay that way for the rest of his life. "Then I have no choice… but to except your offer…"

Haytham Kenway grinned under his hat. It had worked. He had won. He had defeated the Assassins and broke the will of their Mentor. It was over. The Templars would rule. He couldn't hide the lightness in his voice.

"It's settled then," he purred. He got up a bit too merrily. "I will remove my men from the property by morning." Achilles eyes were shadowed, but Haytham didn't care as his own regained their frigid sternness. "However, I will schedule scouts to come check on your little manor and they will report directly to me. If we find you speaking with another Assassin, we will return with the same force used tonight. If we find you training a recruit, we will kill them personally and send you their head." The former Assassin didn't move, causing the Templar to tilt his head. "Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes," Achilles snapped. He wanted this done with. He no longer wanted to be told the "truth." All he wished for right now was to go back to his solitude and never return. Haytham's conditions were unnecessary.

"Very well." Haytham shifted his hat. The man deemed a handshake to seal the deal would be too much to ask, so he carefully prepared his leave. "We best be off, then. Thank you for your hospitality, _Achilles_, we'll leave it to yourself now. Good fortune to you."

He swore he heard the old man grunt. The Templar ignored him as he glanced at his associate.

"Shay."

The Irishman glanced up without moving his head.

"Let's go."

Without a sound, the Templar pushed himself off the wall and exited the room. At the mention of the name, Achilles bore daggers into ex-Assassin's back, but the man didn't spare him a glance. At a signal from Haytham, the others Templars in the room collected themselves and filed out of the room. The Grandmaster waited patiently as they shuffled away, arms behind his back.

Words still on his tongue, he turned to Achilles. "You brought this upon yourself," he chided, almost in a scolding tone. "We only reacted to it."

The man walked to the threshold of the room, but placed a hand on the frame before leaving, looking back. Achilles was watching him, but eyes narrowed and cold hatred burning his eyes. But his gaze was still dulled with the rest of his body shriveled. Haytham Kenway made sure to make his last words count.

"Do not disappoint me."

* * *

><p><strong>Honestly this chapter was a little more difficult to write, especially the second half where Achilles officially gives up. So I apologize if dialogue's a bit off on this one.<strong>

**Also, for those who think I made Achilles give up too easily, remember his family died before all this happened. So he's already been pessimistic and depressed for several years now (which makes me believe it's one of the several factors that led to the Fall of the Assassins).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Did I mention I like fluff? I love fluff. So expect a lot of it. Starting with this chapter. Yes, this one.**

* * *

><p>Selah heard the whispers of voices before she opened her eyes. She blinked them open with a soft moan. She was only greeted with the sight of a dark ceiling. However, a glance to her left revealed a large candle lit on the table next to her. The young Assassin blinked in disorientation, feeling strangely disconnected from her body. Then faint murmuring reached her ears again. The teenaged girl glanced at the source, noticing two figures. The broad, elegant figure she registered as Haytham Kenway. The man standing before him Selah recognized was the one who pointed the musket at her. What was his name again?<p>

"…which I want you to care of, Charles," Haytham's deep, but musical British accent rumbled.

That was it. Charles Lee. While the Grandmaster's back was to her, Lee was facing her, allowing to him to notice her awakened state. He cocked an eyebrow and nodded towards her. Immediately Haytham Kenway turned his upper body to glance at her over his shoulder.

"Ah, our guest is awake," he almost cheered. "I was afraid you wouldn't be waking up."

Selah ignored him as she tried to register where she was. She felt a cocoon of warm plush around her with her body completely unmoving. A bed?

"Where am I?" she slurred.

Now Haytham turned to face her. "You're safe now. No one here is going to hurt you."

"You're Templars…"

The Grandmaster took a step towards her, but not in a threatening manner. "Yes, we are."

At his blunt statement and her Assassin's instincts kicking in, Selah attempted to unravel herself from her prison. She propped her elbows to push herself up, but only when she lifted her upper body, a wave of pain coursed through her body. She gave a gasping hiss and fell back. A strong hand gently pressed her down.

"Don't exert yourself…" Haytham's voice murmured. Selah's eyes fluttered. His silky voice was already lulling her back to sleep…

No. She was just tired. Drugged, probably. She panted slightly from the effort of her movement. The strange condition was enough for her instincts to stir her into panic. What was going on?

"Where are the others?" she demanded through a pant. She was actually just thinking it aloud. Elder Assassins were always nearby, waiting to assist their younger sister. All she had to do was to give the cry of the eagle…

Haytham just stared at her, making her incoherent-self repeat her statement. "Where are the other Assassins?"

It was then the Grandmaster removed his hand and clasped it behind his back. His face emotionless, he glanced at Lee and tilted his head towards the door. Understanding the order, the Templar took a step back, but not without giving Selah one more curious glance before leaving. Haytham stared off in the distance as the door clicked closed.

Suddenly Selah's stomach started to twist into knots, adding to her misery. She was too weak to recognize dread seeping into her veins. It was hard to read Haytham's expression, but there was a storm behind his stony eyes. He stepped forward, opening his mouth. The look in his eyes was equal to a sea captain sending his ship into a typhoon.

"The Assassin Brotherhood is destroyed," he stated. "Everyone you worked with is dead."

Selah's heart crushed under her collapsing organs. The wind in her lungs was ripped from her lungs, like she had forgotten to breathe. The warmth around her suddenly felt frigid and she shivered. Her foggy mind snapped into alertness as it analyzed what it had been told. The Assassins. Dead. Everyone she loved as a brother and a comrade. Her entire world. Gone. It couldn't be true.

Then she remembered James. His death. Then came all the screams of death she heard that night and all the fires that roared. She had watched its destruction…

But her body still refused. This couldn't be reality. Her shoulders started heaving in pants, competing with her trembling body.

"No…" Her voice came as a low whine, filled with pain and refusal. The flashes of Templars appeared across her vision. How they cut down her loved ones one by one. And they laughed. She remembered Lee pointing the gun at her, summoning a sharp pain to her arm. He had shot her. She remembered how the Grandmaster simply watched, like he was above such primitive methods. _When he had been the cause of it._

"You… you bastards…"

Haytham was finally noticing her stressful state. "Calm down…" He placed a hand on her shoulder. Big mistake.

With a screech, Selah shot up from the bed and clawed at the Grandmaster's chest. The Templar reeled back from the action, but remained at his post. The Assassin screamed at the top of her lungs in a high-pitch, shrieking streams of vile words to unintelligible babble. Her claws swiped at Haytham's neck a couple of times, drawing blood. He desperately tried to gain a hold on her, finally getting a grip on her arms. The traumatized teenager continued to scream and flail.

Reacting quickly, Haytham pinned her hands above her head and scrambled onto the bed on top of her. He pressed his weight on her body so all she could do was squirm. He half-expected her to screech louder, only for her shrieks to suddenly be replaced by loud wails. Selah sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her desperate squirming faded into uncontrollable quivering.

"I hate you... I hate you… I hate you…" she kept repeating between gasps. "I wish all of you to _hell_!"

Haytham only watched with a stony face, his face only inches from hers. He knew there was nothing he could to quell her suffering, and that the only good thing was for her to get it over with. All he could do was prevent her from somehow hurting herself. Still, it pained him that he had been cause of her violent reaction. He couldn't help but remember his own father's death, and how his world was shattered that night just like hers.

All of Selah's teachings of control left her as she lost her emotions, screaming and wailing at the top of her lungs, the images of her deceased brothers with their violent deaths appearing in her mind over and over. She didn't know how long she cried. Maybe only a few minutes. Possibly over an hour.

Her trembling turned into violent shudders as her sobs died into choking hiccups. Her throat was parched and raw with her face red and wet. Her panting slowed to quiet gasps, her upper body finally stilling. A few more minutes and she only gave small whimpers between tiny breaths.

It was then Haytham finally slowly released her wrists and climbed off the bed back onto the floor. Selah made no movement. Whatever energy she had recovered was gone. If anything, she was weaker than she once was.

"I have no intention of killing you." She barely registered Haytham's soft voice. "You _are _safe now and you will recover here." Selah closed her eyes, unable to listen or argue. Noticing she was slipping into unconsciousness, Haytham dipped his head in helplessness and disappointment. There was literally nothing he could do. "I'll send a doctor to tend to your wounds."

With that, the Grandmaster slipped out of the room.

* * *

><p>Selah lost track of time. No matter what, the world around her was dark, whether it was in reality even with its lanterns or in her dreams. How long had it been? Hours? Days? <em>Weeks<em>? She had no way of knowing.

She couldn't tell if Haytham Kenway visited her again; if he did she didn't notice his strong presence. Instead other men came. Occasionally the silhouette of a scrawny man of a doctor would appear to fuss over her. He would stay the longest, but would immediately leave once his work was done and stay away longer than his visit. Other Templars came, too. Some would duck their head in to check if she was still alive or had escaped. Others came in with trays of food. The server would either be cruel or bored or caring, shaking her awake and pleading with her to eat. Selah refused.

Never once did the Assassin move from her position. Even when one of her servers tried to force her into a sitting position, she simply pushed away from his hold and fell back onto the bed. Once again she was detached from her body. Only this time she was separated from her senses too, her mind numb in a fog of nonexistent thoughts.

The only thing she did feel was her heart. Occasionally a sharp pain from her chest would rip her from her dreams, severe enough she would cry out in the darkness. Sometimes a figure would come, only to be bewildered with what was wrong. Most of the time though it was a dull ache, accompanying her when she was awake and hiding in her sleep. Only a few times was it numb, feeling like a hole in her chest or a stone weighing her down.

But she didn't care. All she wanted—when she could think—was the world to disappear. To lock it away and dispose of the key, never to be seen again. _She _wanted to disappear.

Selah drifted between consciousness and sleep, eyes closed and blocking out her surroundings. That failed though when a clicking sounded next to her, followed by a light that washed over the room when a lantern was lit. Suddenly a warm hand covered Selah's.

"Dear," a voice whispered. _His _voice. Suddenly Selah registered the presence of authority of the Grandmaster, but it was dulled as she too blocked him out. "You need to wake up." The girl ignored him and didn't stir. The hand traveled to her shoulder with a gentle shake. "Wake up, dearest. You need to eat."

Selah buried her face into the pillow and curled her body. "I'm not hungry," she slurred.

"Drink, then," Haytham suggested softly.

No response.

"Just some water. That can't hurt, can it?"

Selah could feel his stubbornness in his hand. A voice in her mind protested greatly, wishing him away. But what remained of the apprentice's logic dictated that he wouldn't leave until his wish was fulfilled. The girl muttered and shifted. The sooner she cooperated, the sooner she could disappear. She turned over and shakily balanced on her elbows.

"That's a good girl," Haytham murmured.

He snaked an arm around her shoulders and lifted her sitting position so she wouldn't choke. The Templar immediately noticed her eyes and dark hair were dull. The light from the lantern created shadows on her hollow cheeks. He ignored it though as he propped the pillows behind her. Right now the man had to get her to cooperate. He could blame the doctor for letting her get this unhealthy later.

Selah's mind and body screamed with confusion and soreness at the change of environment. Still, she tried closing her eyes and to disappear again. A pressure appeared on the side of her neck and chin, something brushing softly against her lips. Suddenly a cold sensation slipped through them and filled her mouth, quickly traveling down her throat. Water.

At first, her mind protested again, but then instincts kicked in. Fingers intertwined with Haytham's, she chugged down the drink, her mouth and throat suddenly feeling dry and cracked. Even as she gleefully inhaled the last few drops, her insides still felt raw. Haytham pulled the cup away and Selah suddenly felt a soft thumb stroke her cheek. She gave a mild flinch when she realized it was his hand on her neck.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" his British accent hummed. For some reason the girl subconsciously shook her head. The man gave a slight smile. "Now can you try a bite to eat?"

Once again Selah wanted to refuse, but suddenly a new pain replaced the one in her heart. This time from her stomach. She winced as hunger took its hold, making her reluctantly nod. Haytham smiled again and picked up a piece of bread from the tray he brought. However, the Assassin still owned some pride, refusing the idea to be fed like a child. Selah weakly snatched the bread from the man and finished it in two bites, barely chewing before swallowing. Her hunger only grew.

Her hand independently reached out for the bowl of soup. Haytham pushed it towards her, allowing her to gain a hold and bring it to her chin. It was gone in less than a minute. She wiped her lips as she handed the bowl back to Haytham.

Hey eyes were already drooping and the wish to sleep returned. Although the pain in her stomach was still existent, it had lessened enough for her to bear it. Haytham noticed her nodding off, so he reached over and removed the pillow behind her. He helped her to lie back down, gently pulling the bed sheets over her.

"Sleep well, my dear," he whispered.

Selah fell asleep the second she closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>Haytham gave a weary sigh, even though he was slightly pleased with himself. He finally got the Assassin to eat. Maybe won some trust, too. Not much, of course, but some. A good step in her recovery.<p>

Several hours after his discussion with Achilles, he went straight to where his prisoner was being held, wanting to see how the relocation went. He was actually surprised that Church tended to her quite well. Not a fabulous job, but better than most of his patients. Still, he deemed to hire a second doctor, who checked on the girl regularly.

After his own "discussion" with the Assassin, he became distracted with Templar priorities. Even though the Assassins were defeated, did not mean the Grandmaster was less preoccupied. In fact he was more. There was the matter of scheduling the scouts that would monitor Achilles, the payment to the mercenaries they had hired, and the storage of the supplies they had stolen. Not to mention that the destruction of their base of operations did not mean all the Assassins were done away with. Now Haytham had to put together expeditions to find any hiding in the cities or the frontier, as well as place new Templar cells to make sure his orders were carried out. And then there was…

Just thinking about all his responsibilities made the man want to run a hand through his hair and he swore he felt several strands turn gray. When he finally turned his attention back to his guest days later, he had discovered she had practically been in a coma and her caretakers did little for her. So almost as always, the Grandmaster had to do things himself.

The Templar was so distracted with his thoughts he barely recognized a figure in the room he entered.

"How'd it go?"

Haytham glanced over at Charles Lee, who was settled comfortably in a chair by a table.

"Got something in her, finally," the senior Templar reported. "It won't be long before she's back to her full strength."

"Do you think it's best that way?"

Haytham cocked an eyebrow at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, looking conflicted. Like he was determined on what he thought of but didn't know if he should say it out loud. Before Haytham could think about adjusting his flaw, the man spit it out. "She's an Assassin, sir. A young inexperienced one who's weak, but still. She'll kill you when she gets the chance."

"Many Assassins have tried to kill me, Charles."

The Templar only narrowed his eyes at the rebuke, his determination quickly growing. "What? You'll think you can win her over just like that?"

"No, but I hope to slowly win her trust."

"Before or after she plunges her blade in you?"

"Charles."

The man shut his mouth at the Grandmaster's warning, but his eyes still flickered with skepticism. Haytham gave him a hard stare too, trying not to get frustrated. First Benjamin and now Charles? Was everyone in his Order going to question him? But he had a point, though. She was an Assassin. It was obvious the girl was young, late-teens at most, but she was trained to kill. And with brainwashing Assassin ideologies still in her head, she would not hesitate to use her talents.

And besides, Charles was a man of reason, his logic matching his own. It was one of the reasons the Grandmaster kept him around so much as his right-hand man; Charles acted like his conscious.

"Look, sir," Lee sighed, "I am only trying to be reasonable. For you to die after all we've accomplished would be a waste."

Haytham didn't know if that was a compliment or not, but he ignored it as he defended his own argument. "And it would be a waste of potential if I simply dispose of her. She's still a young mind; she could prove useful to us."

Charles snorted. "It could be argued all those Assassins on that night had _potential_. Doesn't make them any less that they are."

"True," Haytham agreed, "but not like her."

"What do you see in her?"

Haytham looked away. "I don't know…"

He literally never came across the apprentice ever in his life, and their "meetings" could barely pass at that. However, something about her must've impressed him. Was it when she tried to attack him? Even though it was a suicidal charge, Haytham couldn't help but applaud her courage. And when their gazes had locked, even though there was fear and hatred in her eyes, he also saw her strength and determination in them. Already he found several qualities he adored in a man.

And besides, like he had said, she was still young. Yet to learn the ways of the world. No doubt she saw little from her little village, and what she was told would've been flawed. He wasn't cruel enough to end someone who still had so much more to learn. Just like he couldn't kill Achilles, who was already broken and lame.

So, the Assassin would live.

"We give her a chance, Charles," Haytham decided. "She'll come around at some point."

"As you wish, Master Kenway," Charles sighed. He knew there was no point now. Once the Grandmaster made up his mind, there was no changing it.

However when Haytham stepped out of the room, he added nurturing a killer to his list of duties.

* * *

><p><strong>So not much fluff, but I thought it would stick out in such a dark chapter. But chapters will get slightly lighter as the story progresses. For those curious, no, there will be no romance in this fic. Only some one-sidedness and light fluff.<strong>

**Poor Selah, though. It's not uncommon for someone to fall into a "coma" from depression, and I thought it appropriate especially after what she's been through. And Haytham's bluntness certainly didn't help, but he had to tell her sometime.**

**And to clear it up, both she and Achilles think the entire Brotherhood is destroyed. So they don't know the other is alive. However, sorry to say, I don't plan to bring up Achilles again. There will be other Assassins later in the story, though.**

**Also, I've been trying something different by not being so restricted with point-of-view. If you catch it hopefully it's not too confusing for some, but I plan to only try it for a couple chapters.**


	4. Chapter 4

Selah finished her next several meals just like the first. A reluctant Templar server would present her food only for it to be gone within a matter of seconds. Each time she ate, the pain in her stomach would reside. Her heartache would lessen slightly as well. At the same time, her senses finally began to return to her and her thoughts became clearer each day.

The first she registered was the scratch of cloth on her skin. At first she thought it was clothing she wore. But noticing it was only a smooth, long-sleeved nightgown, she quickly investigated further. What she found horrified her.

Almost half her body was covered in tight bandages. She inspected the cloth on her upper left arm first, where Lee had shot her. Thankfully it was only a flesh wound, but it was deep enough to require stiches. Her search led to bandages wrapped around her raw hands, her stomach, and her lower right leg was completely encased. Whatever wasn't covering her skin revealed dozens bruises and scrapes. When the girl lightly slid her fingers over her face, she felt the rough skin of scabs. No doubt some of them would scar.

She was really so injured? The night of the attack went by as a blur. The only thing she could remember was… Selah swallowed convulsively at the image of James's death.

As the Assassin recovered her senses, the reality what was really happening was dawning on her. She soon learned she was in a facility called Fort George. She recognized it… it was the Templar headquarters in New York City. She was in the hands of her enemy. Why? Why was she here? Didn't Haytham say all the Assassins were killed? They probably wanted her as a trophy… Just thinking if that was the case made Selah wish she had died along with her brothers.

But such a thought made her remember her first days here. It was almost as blurry as the battle, but she remembered enough. She almost _did _die. All because the teenager had been sulking about her misfortune. Some Assassin she was. James would be ashamed of her…

If it wasn't for Haytham…

The Grandmaster hadn't returned since he visited her. Every time the door opened, she half-expected it to be him, only for it to be some Templar recruit. For some reason a strange feeling resonated each time. Disappointment? No, that couldn't be right. He was the head of her enemy. He had been that cause for her suffering. Still, the light touches he had gave her sent tingles across her skin. It wasn't anything sexual, she was assured, but it continued to burn through her mind.

The teenaged girl was resting soundly now, eyes closed as her thoughts drifted aimlessly. There was nothing better to do… Her body was still weak, anyway. The clicking of a door interrupted her temporary peace, making her open her eyes. Probably a server returning with more food. She looked up, only to see it wasn't a server at all.

Haytham.

The Grandmaster immediately noticed her peering at him.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked as he closed the door behind him.

Selah wondered what she should say. Deciding lying wouldn't do anything, she said simply, "Yes."

"That's good to hear."

She expected him to stand by the bed as he had before, but was both surprised and horrified when he carefully sat on the edge of the bed by her feet. Her body involuntarily stiffened at his closeness. She certainly wasn't like this before…

But with her vision clearer and several lanterns lighting the room, she was able to see details she had missed before. He had dark brown hair tied back with a neat, blood-red ribbon. But even from here Selah could see several strands of gray, signifying his growing age. However the Templar's face still seemed young, perfectly flawless and masculine with well-tanned skin. Only the crow's feet by his stormy stone-gray eyes betrayed his age.

Those eyes stared at her as he analyzed her himself. He knew she was clearer than she was before. Her behavior would certainly be different. Haytham was silent for a few moments before he said softly, as if he was careful of his words, "I know all of this is difficult for you…"

"Why am I here?" Selah interrupted. Her voice was stronger. Before it was barely a whisper.

"You are too young to be concern yourself with politics that work above you. Especially when it expects you to cost your life in battle."

Selah's chest flared. He was questioning her age?! Just how young was she to him? Instead of challenging of him, she went on to her next demand, but made sure to add more venom to it. "What do you want with me?"

Haytham shifted. He could see the defiance building in her eyes. He had to be careful. Last time his bluntness almost cost her life. But he wasn't the type to beat around the bush. Never mind feign unnecessary affection.

"Your improved health, to start with, my dear," he tried. Her look said she wasn't concerned. He went on with his true opinion. "Despite your age, it would be a shame for your talents to go to waste." Selah narrowed her eyes. "And you can still be saved from your ignorance…"

"I won't join the Templars!"

Haytham started from the outburst. Now the Assassin apprentice glared at him with fury. So much for being careful… He honestly didn't expect her to realize his intentions so quickly. How intelligent she was…

No choice. He had to be direct now. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, dearest. We _did _save your life, after all."

"And took the lives of many others. Why should I be grateful?" Selah spat.

Haytham smirked. "Because if you wanted to die, you wouldn't have run off."

Immediately Selah paled. Now the night was coming back to her. She had been confused, unfocused… _terrified_. She thought she was being wise when she left James. But when in fact it was _she _had left her brothers and sisters to die. She could've helped them. But no. She ran away like a coward. She _deserted_.

The girl looked away from Haytham, but to her disappointment he went on like he read her thoughts.

"Don't blame yourself," he sighed. "What you did was natural. Anyone would've done the same."

Selah slightly bared her fangs. She wasn't just _anyone_. She was an _Assassin_. Haytham noticed the reaction and went on.

"What would you have gained if you died that night?" he questioned. "At least now you have a chance to live."

"As your slave."

Haytham's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose, like he was genuinely surprised. "What in the world would make you say that?"

Selah narrowed her eyes. Was he that stupid? Or was he actually trying to play innocent? Some Grandmaster he was…

"Because that's what all you Templars do," the Assassin accused. "You bend those to your ways and you kill those who disagree."

Now the Templar's mouth was opening. He certainly wasn't expecting this… "I assure you, my dear, that is not the case."

"Why keep me, then?"

"Because, dearest—"

"Stop calling me that!"

Haytham blinked, but finally recovered from his shock. He almost seemed to shrug. "I will, once you tell me your name."

It was Selah's turn to blink and her mind flinched. However instead of looking him in the eye, she looked away, pouting. He was trying to recruit her in into the Templar Order, and he didn't even know her _name_? The nerve he had…

The girl heard the ruffle of clothing as he shifted closer. Even though he was several inches away, Selah still felt the soft breeze of his breathing on her neck.

"I am not the enemy…" he promised in a low voice.

"I beg to differ, _Grandmaster_," the Assassin hissed.

Finally the man let out a heavy sigh. For some odd reason that pleased the teenager, knowing she had finally broken his unwavering demeanor. Her lips almost twitched in a smirk.

"It is only natural for you to be weary of us. Especially after what you been through."

Selah glanced at him without moving her head. This time he was looking away, his face a mask of stone. He almost looked disappointed. What? Did he really think converting her would be so easy? The Assassin looked back to her interesting spot on the wall.

Haytham sighed again as he lifted himself off the bed. "I suppose I'll let you get back to your rest, then. But a change of setting might do you some good." Selah felt his eyes rake over her as he observed the nightgown she was in. "I might as well get you some proper clothing, too."

Once again the Grandmaster disappeared from the room.

* * *

><p>Selah gnawed the inside of her cheek. For the first time in days, of what she estimated was almost a week, she was standing on her own. She found it a strange sensation. Once again her instincts disliked the change, causing her legs to be tired and wobbly. At the same time, they were strong with stiffness, as they refused the very idea of sitting ever again. But her legs were not the cause of her discomfort. The girl stared blankly at the neatly folded clothes sitting on the chair in front of her. The clothes Haytham promised.<p>

She knew she was being childish. Like a toddler being picky of clothing when they didn't even know what they liked or disliked. She didn't want to near it, to the point she wanted to throw it away. She couldn't help it. It was a gift given to her by _Templars_. She wanted nothing to with them. But, then again, Selah was forced to realize the nightgown she wore was from her captors. And it _would _be nice to have a change of clothes.

So with a great weighty sigh, she began switched her attire. She just had to be grateful they gave her the comfortable clothing of trousers and a coat, instead of some dainty dress women were "expected" to wear. She first pulled on the leather-like dark brown trousers. They were loose, but thankfully not baggy. The teenager slipped tall boots that came to her calf over them, quickly strapping the many buckles up its side. She then tried the tedious task of buttoning her light-tan undershirt, followed by a brown jacket with hints of red.

Selah began gnawing again as she carefully folded the cuff of the tan shirt over the jacket. The cuff split, having a slash of red show. Even though, the Assassin couldn't help but relate the outfit similar to the mercenaries… The men who killed her loved ones for pleasure. The girl found herself wanting to cry again. Here she was, at the mercy of her enemy, wearing _their _uniform.

She was so distracted with her thoughts she didn't hear the door opening and closing.

"Ah, much better," Haytham purred.

Selah bit harder. She changed her mind about expecting him; now all she wanted was for him to go away. Still, she refused to react as he neared her, close enough he was practically over her shoulder. The teenager reluctantly turned around, allowing the man to inspect her. She didn't move her tense muscles as he nonchalantly adjusted her collar and jacket. Her skin tingled again when his fingers brushed lightly against her neck.

"That should suffice," he decided. He was already turning around. "Come along, dear."

Selah's stomach boiled. He added that "dear" on purpose.

* * *

><p>The Assassin found herself walking the streets of the military district of Fort George in a matter of minutes later. She found the facility quite more complex than she first thought. An outer wall armed with state-of-the-art fortifications guarded a sector just for military officials. However it could be overlooked as a closed-off village, the district being packed with large buildings that passed as houses and apartments. She even spotted a couple of civilians and town criers. But the population was mostly made of the red coats of British soldiers and the plain uniforms of the Templars. Did they even notice the other's existence?<p>

But true heart of the fort—and the Templar Order—was within the second wall of the complex. Protected by thicker, taller barriers were several large buildings, almost passing as small manors. They were the private buildings of the Templars for the specific use of their headquarters.

Selah shuddered as she thought she would have to return there in just a few minutes. Every two seconds the urge to make a run for it would dominate her mind. But the flash of soldiers kept her in place. The Assassin estimated she would make it ten feet before being tackled by half an army. And then there was the looming presence over her shoulder…

Haytham Kenway walked beside her, arms tucked behind his back and scanning his surroundings like he was on daily stroll. They had walked in complete silence, not even uttering a word. Selah didn't know what to make of him. Now she disliked being this close him and his powerful presence loomed over her like a storm cloud, but she was grateful he egged her on. Because of lack of use, her body was shaky and quickly fading, but being so aware of another's gaze, she kept herself strong and continued to walk straight. Last thing she needed was to fall onto the street alone and go through the humiliation of praying for some half-sober soldier to come find a damsel in men's clothes.

"Just to inform you," Haytham's voice interrupted her over-imagination. "I'm leaving tomorrow for business. I'll be gone for a few days."

_Any you're telling me why? _Selah wondered. Nonetheless a glint appeared in her eyes. Haytham noticed.

"Don't get any ideas." His voice and gaze was stern. "I'll have my men keep an eye on you. I'll lend you the freedom of walking on your own, but you are not to leave the premises."

Selah chuckled darkly. "A Templar giving freedom. That's a new one."

"What gives you that impression?"

"I already told you: all you care of is bending minds to your will. Isn't that why you are keeping me?"

"That is not what the Templars strive for."

"What is, then?"

"Purpose. Order. Direction. No more than that." How he waved his hands and talked matter-of-factly made Selah nauseous. But his next words would make her blood boil. "It's your lot that wishes to confound with your nonsense talk of freedom. Time was, the Assassins owned a far more sensible goal: that of peace."

"Freedom _is_ peace!" Selah's voice raised, outraged he dared twist the words of their creed.

"No, it's an invitation to chaos," Haytham argued. "I believe you have enough evidence of that."

The apprentice winced at the darkness in his tone and what it implied. Still, she still had enough anger in her veins to make her snarl. She was just about to give a rude retort when suddenly she saw a flash of light on his arm. The girl stopped short as her sharp gaze analyzed it. What she saw made her burning blood freeze.

On his bracer was a small piece of metal; rusted but still shiny. It was curved in a shape that resembled a sharp hood. The insignia of the Assassin Brotherhood.

Selah didn't have to look at Haytham to know he had followed her gaze and was smirking. The Assassin couldn't stop her words.

"Y-you were an Assassin?" she gasped.

Haytham gave an amused snort. "Yes and no. If you asked if I _served _the Brotherhood, then no, I haven't."

Selah's head still swirled. Yes and no? What was that supposed to mean? The answer came to the forefront of her mind, ripped from the knowledge of her memories.

"You… were born to an Assassin."

The Grandmaster nodded. "Yes. My father, in fact. He even planned to indoctrinate me into the Order. But, I found the Templars much more suitable."

The Assassin couldn't suppress her shiver. If that was true, it explained why he knew so much of the Brotherhood. Was he a traitor, then? No, according to him, he was never an official Assassin. But what in the world would make him choose the Templars over his own family?

Haytham glanced at her and said in a lower voice, breaking her thoughts, "You and I are not that different. You'll come to understand us some day."

The latter allowed anger to disperse some of her shock, causing Selah to growl, "I won't."

Finally Haytham gave a real shrug. "No matter. You wouldn't be the first stubborn woman I've dealt with."

Selah blinked. Eh? Although it didn't matter as silence consumed them, Selah reviewing what she had just been told and Haytham acting like nothing ever happened. But the girl was soon finding ways to push his words out her mind. She rather die than take the words of the Templars to heart. The Grandmaster interrupted her process as he spoke up again.

"So, how did someone of your age become involved with the Assassins?"

Selah suppressed rolling her eyes. There was that age thing. He made it sound like she was twelve years old. She was small, but she knew looked older than _that_. She was sixteen, for God's sake! Hell, there were pregnant women the same age as her.

"None of your concern," Selah muttered.

"Come now," the Templar persisted. "That can't bring any harm, can it?"

Selah glanced at him but said nothing. Haytham seemed to notice the attempt at conversation had died. He persisted, nonetheless.

"I wish you'd trust us…" he sighed.

"Trust you?" the girl gasped. She halted and spun on him, the man copying her movements. She raised her voice as she pointed an accusing finger at him. "You slaughtered _dozens _of men and women who fought what they believed in. Destroyed families and ruined the lives of many more. And I bet you can't even recall any of their names."

"Of course I can," Haytham argued calmly. "John O'Brien, Edwin Jones, Caleb Garret, Alice Mayflower… James Crawford."

Selah visibly flinched at the mention of her teacher's name. Haytham noticed and his face softened.

"Is that someone you know?"

"No." She turned away, lump in her throat. A hand appeared on her shoulder.

"He died on the night, didn't he?" Haytham whispered.

Selah swallowed. "It may have been another man's blade, but _you _were the master." She swatted his hand away and rounded on him. "And I will _never _forgive you."

**For those wondering why Selah's behavior is all over the place, remember, she just survived a traumatic experience. And she was extremely weakened, making her delirious and not fully aware of her surroundings. She just now got her bearings back.**

**And as you can see, we're starting out with some tension. Don't expect her to wake up and say, "Okay, I'm a Templar now." NO, it doesn't work that way. And that's not what this story's about. So there's going to be some hostility, especially in the first few chapters, but if you can see, I'm trying to keep it moderate. Intense arguing can be stressful and tiring real quick.**

**For now just keep in mind Selah is a committed Assassin. She hates all Templars and blames them for everything that has happened, especially Haytham.**

**Nonetheless, I hope you're enjoying my work and feel free to tell me what you think! I love feedback and it really encourages my writing!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Blood. All Selah saw was blood. The ringing of a streak of metal struck her hearing before seeing a flash of red and a wet, warm liquid splashed onto her. The girl screamed in surprise, jumping away and glancing at her Assassin robes. The white cloth was red. She screamed again._

_When she looked back up, she was met with a scarlet wall of fire. The intense heat was burning through her clothing and scorched her skin, like she had been placed in a baking oven. The flames' thundering was quiet compared to the sound that accompanied them. Selah covered her ears at the high-pitched screams of men and women, like the blaze was burning them alive. She swore she could hear a couple of them begging for help._

_"__Selah! SELAH!" James screamed._

_"__James!"_

_Suddenly he was before her. His eyes were glazed and lifeless and his mouth was cracked, like he tried to say a final word but failed. The Master Assassin's body completely covered in blood, more so than his actual death. The liquid poured from the gash on his chest and his neck was completely split open. But it wasn't from an axe. It was more like a sword._

_Selah was crying hysterically over her teacher's corpse, but mad laughter covered her sobs. She was cut short as something poured into her mouth, making her choke. She spat out the residue, gagging on the metallic taste._

_Suddenly James's body was gone and Selah was suspended in liquid. She tried to swim through the water, but it was thick, sticky. Blood. The Assassin tried to keep herself aloft by flailing her limbs, but the blood was quickly rising with a deafening roar, so thick it restricted her movements. In a matter of seconds, she choked on mouthfuls that spilled into her mouth, the vile taste of iron cloaking her tongue. She was literally drowning in blood. Selah let out a bloodcurdling scream._

"Wake up, girl! FOR GOD'S SAKE, _WAKE UP_!"

Selah screamed as she was jolted awake. She shot up from the bed, slamming into Haytham's chest. The man immediately wrapped his arms around her, lowering his voice to a low whisper from his previous bellow.

"It's alright, it's alright," he coaxed. "You're safe now."

The girl was still flailing. She ripped away from his hold.

"_Get away from me_!" she wailed in a high-pitched screech.

She scrambled away from him, but due to the bedclothes wrapped around her, she didn't get very far. Selah's chest was heaving and her look was wild. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and blood roared in her ears. The dream was still vivid in her mind, her vision covered with red and laughter still echoing in her ear. Haytham's laughter. He had killed James.

The Grandmaster sat on the edge her bed, hands raised in a sign of peace. His eyes were wide with surprise, but still showed concern.  
>"It's alright," he repeated softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."<p>

"Stay away from me…" Selah whined, shifting further away.

Little did she know the Templar was stubborn, and she made enough room for him on the bed. Haytham quickly sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The girl tried to flinch away, but now the adrenaline was dying, making her body stiff.

The man hushed her soothingly. "It was just a nightmare," he whispered. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

Selah still panted and her mind was a blur. The dream was so real… Everything burned into her senses like it had been reality. She looked down to her tawny nightgown and stared at her hands, imagining the blood that had been there.

"There was…" she tried, but her voice only cracked.

Haytham hushed her again. He pulled his arm, forcing her body towards him. The girl's face fell onto his chest and a fist clamped on his heart, gripping onto his clothing. Selah was shivering as cold sweat covered her frigid skin. She tried to pull away, but then felt the warmth radiating from Haytham's body. Selah sighed as she pressed her body closer, her dulled senses detecting the coziness from him. Seeing she was stilling, Haytham snatched the bed sheets and pulled them over her, some draping over his own legs.

Selah kept her eyes half-open, fearful of sleep and what was happening, but drowsiness and a strange sense of content were lulling her to unconsciousness. Suddenly she felt Haytham's light fingers starting to brush against her back. At first the girl stiffened, but her body quickly relaxed to the rhythmic motion. Her eyelids lowered.

"Selah…" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Selah. My name is Selah."

Haytham was silent as she snuggled closer to his chest. She already felt exhaustion seeping in.

"Sleep well, Selah…" Haytham whispered.

The girl closed her eyes. For the first time since the night of the attack, Selah felt safe.

* * *

><p>Selah twitched her fingers across the bed. The young girl opened her eyes with a sleepy murmur, only to see an empty bed before her. She blinked, already knowing something was off. She stared with half-closed eyes, trying to regain her senses. Then she remembered last night…<p>

Haytham. She had practically fell asleep on top of him. After…

Selah shivered as her horrific nightmare flickered across her vision. She had relived the attack and more in just a matter of seconds. Although the dream felt like an eternity, and considering the panicked look on Haytham, she must have been screaming for a while.

But the girl stared blankly at the mattress, recognizing it was empty when there was supposed to be a body there. Had she dreamed it? The nightmare was real enough. Couldn't she have hallucinated Haytham as well? No… something was different. He had been _too _real. But her thoughts weren't rational. Her stomach knotted in sickness when she thought of the Templars, be he had been… comforting. Secure.

Selah couldn't help but remember the nights in the Assassin village when she had been disturbed by dreams or after a long day of training, she had fallen asleep by James's side much like last night. No. Haytham was not James. Selah decided it was treason to make such a comparison.

But Haytham had come to her last night. Where was he now? Finally the girl remembered he was leaving today for "business." If he was gone it must have meant he had already left. Then she recalled what else he had said. She would have the freedom to walk around. What? Did that mean she could do whatever she wanted?

Suddenly Selah had the urge to test it. Maybe she could learn things about the Templars. Or better yet, learn a way to escape. She quickly decided Haytham's kindness would do little to change her opinion of the bastards.

That in mind, the young Assassin quickly changed into her new attire and neared the door. Naturally she paused in front of it. What if it was locked? Or was there some guard on the other side, waiting to pounce her? She stiffened, but immediately shook her head when she realized her imagination was overworking again. Before her nerve could fail her, she quickly snatched the doorknob and turned. Selah imagined hearing the bells of alarms as she slowly opened the door, but she was only greeted with silence. She quickly skipped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. No guard. No Templars. The gray walls were as bleak and lifeless as most military forts.

Curious to see how far she could go, Selah walked down the long corridor. She traveled a short distance without any contact, coming to a room with a single wooden table with a ring of chairs around it. The only other piece of furniture was a small bookshelf lined with books. Curiosity getting the best of her, she plucked a random book. The teenager had just opened it to a random page when a voice interrupted her.

"Well wot do you know, gurl's finally awake."

Selah started and whirled around to see two men entering the room. One looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, short and stocky and a youthfulness to him. He had short pitch-black hair and dull brown eyes. His outfit was almost identical to all the Templar footmen. However the man next to him was taller and older. He had reddish-brown hair with a bushy beard, but it was short enough that it looked civilized. He wore a neatly buttoned crimson coat, but what interested Selah he wore what looked like a blanket wrapped around his shoulder. Its design suggested Native American.

"Almost thought 'Aytham wuz makin' you up when he said somethin' about you," the younger man commented. He had thick uneducated accent, which was only stronger with his poor grammar. Selah actually had to quickly translate his words. 'Aytham. Haytham. Haytham had told him about her.

"Well do I look real to you?" she questioned. She was able to keep her voice light and challenging at the same time.

The man smirked at her spunk. "I reckon so. But ya don't look like some deadly Assassin to me."

Selah immediately frowned. She was about to retort, but suddenly the second man stepped in. He placed a hand on his associate's shoulder and gently shoved him.

"I'm sure she's deadly enough," he said calmly. "And for your sake I wouldn't test her."

The young man sneered before settling in the corner of the room. The taller man however neared Selah without hesitation, holding out a hand.

"William Johnson at your service," he introduced. He waved a hand at his associate. "That lad over there is Thomas Hickey. Don't mind him; his bark is worse than bite."

Selah heard a distinct huff from Hickey's direction. Her stomach twisted. William Johnson and Thomas Hickey. Members of Haytham's Inner Sanctum.

When Johnson noticed she wasn't moving, he gave a shrug and retracted his hand. "I think Haytham warned us you would be a hard one."

"Oh?" Selah narrowed her eyes. "And what else did he say of me?"

The Templar looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't expecting her hostility. Or he didn't want to gossip about his leader. Nonetheless, he confessed carefully, "That you were scared. Can't blame you, really."

Another huff from Hickey. She shot a glare at him as he spoke. "She's an Assassin. Like a few dead men gonna change that."

Selah's chest flared. A few?! Johnson noticed her violent reaction, wrapping an arm around her shoulders across her chest.

"Settle down, you two," he warned. "No point in fighting, now. Would you care for something to eat?"

The question was aimed at her. He was desperate to change the subject. Selah could feel the rage and adrenaline in her veins, directed at Hickey. But she regrettably remembered James's teachings of choosing her battles and keeping control over her emotions. Clawing at Hickey's face would win her nothing. Except give the ill-mannered man a better looking one.

Body ridged and still glaring at the Templar, Selah allowed Johnson to drag her away. The man excused his co-worker's words, but the teenager didn't really listen. He led her to a room near the building's kitchen, where he requested a meal for them. Selah rewarded with a roasted chicken, which she ate in a controlled manner but was merry about having something over than soup and bread. Johnson gave a few attempts to speak with her like Haytham had, but the teenager either shot down his attempts or said nothing.

The meal ended when Selah had cleaned her plate and Johnson stood to leave, saying he had things to attend to. Selah didn't care. The Templar bid her farewell and disappeared, leaving the Assassin alone. She wondered if she could continue to "investigate" the Templars or return to her room to avoid any more unwanted encounters. But she still felt energy in her legs, eager to move after being unused for so long. Selah obeyed.

She wandered aimlessly around the halls, observing every brick in the wall. Her search awarded her nothing, except bouts of shivers. The Homestead back in the village wasn't as complex, but had a strong sense of warmth and life. No matter what time of day it was, the interior had the comforting smell of freshly-baked bread. Selah was always assured whenever she entered the manor, not only were those things, but fellow Assassins lazing around just as content as she was. In Fort George, the walls were made of bleak gray bricks that looked like they hadn't been painted in years. A frigid draft blew through the corridors, making Selah bury into her coat. The only light was from oil lanterns and the occasional window.

Wishing for a brighter setting, the girl navigated her way to the outside. On her way there she passed several lower-ranked Templars who gave her curious glances, but she avoided eye contact. When she finally stepped outside, like before she had to squint her eyes to the sunlight until they adjusted. And like before, she noted the outside of the fort was much livelier. Already there were soldiers and civilians crisscrossing the streets, completely unaware they shared the same space as men wanting to enslave them.

Selah's lip curled in disgust. She needed to get out of here. The Assassin quickly headed for the entrance of the outer wall, but was careful not to attract attention to herself. The doors of the fort and the arch they clung to were made of wood, with wooden spikes lining the ground threatening anyone who got too close. It was a strange contrast to the forbidding stone around them. But it was a sharper contrast that made her stop dead.

At the threshold of the fort were four regulars. They stood like statues as the faced the street outside, clutching their loaded muskets across their chests. But Selah knew their position to guard the fort was just a ruse. They were there to guard _her_. No doubt the soldiers would pounce on her if she got too close. Taking a step back, she peered up on top of the walls. She was greeted with the glints of bayonets and shadows of patrolling men.

Selah cursed. Haytham wasn't jesting, after all. He wasn't going to make simply leaving easy. No doubt her encounter with Johnson and Hickey wasn't just a coincidence, either. The Assassin hissed. Fine. Not the first challenge she had to overcome. Certainly not the most difficult, either.

She was about to turn around to form a plan before a mocking voice stopped her.

"Well, well, looks like the pet's off her leash."

Selah whirled around. This time instead of two men, there were two women. And they couldn't be much older than her. The one that happened to be closer struck out to her first. She had a thin figure and she wore her thick burnet hair down like Selah did. But what caught Selah's eye that she wore a British uniform: fitting white trousers, a bright blood-red coat, and even a long right-handed sword clipped to her left. A black tricorne hat rested on her head, shadowing her piercing eyes that were narrowed with disdain.

The girl next to her couldn't have been more opposite. She wore an emerald-green dress that hung tightly to her curves, but it was shorter than most, revealing some the skin of her legs. The low neck-line revealed the just amount of cleavage that it attracted the eyes of men, but didn't show too much of her secrets. Unlike the long, bushy hair of her friend, her fiery red hair was cut short like a male's. And her skin seemed paler than the tan color of the other girl.

This girl waved a fan before her face, obscuring it to where just her sharp eyes showed. Sharp eyes that glared at the Assassin with more disdain than Selah ever seen.

"Shouldn't you go back to your cage, sweetie?" the redhead questioned in a far-too-cheery voice.

Selah snarled. "Excuse me?"

"She said to go back where you belong, Assassin," the redcoat girl spoke up. "Unless you want something to 'accidently' happen to you."

Selah stepped forward. "Is that a threat?"

Now the redcoat smirked. "Yes," she said lightly.

Suddenly the girl in the dress snapped her fan closed. "I'm afraid you aren't supposed to be here, dearie. This is a _Templar _fort, after all."

Oh. These two were actually aware, after all. Templar recruits? But Selah didn't care as she nodded towards the guarded entrance.

"Wave me past the guards," she demanded. "And I'll leave."

"Ha!" the redcoat sneered. "And let you scutter all over the city? The street already has enough rats."

Selah twitched her eyes. "Like you?"

The Assassin was pleased to see the burnet's smirk disappear. The redhead meanwhile re-opened her fan and began nearing her, like a stalking cat inching towards a mouse.

"You know, I've been told Master Kenway has been keeping you awfully close," she mused. "I wonder why that is, Eleanor."

The redcoat, Eleanor, regained her grin. "Yes. And I heard he's been having her locked up in a bedroom, too."

Sickness pooled into Selah's stomach as she caught on to what they were implying. Haytham's visit started to become very vivid. No, he wouldn't… She remembered her first fears that she was a trophy to the Templars. The teenager quickly shook the notion out of her head. If they wanted her, they would've done so. But she knew convincing the two Templars wouldn't be easy. Though something told Selah she didn't need to convince. That these two pests were just trying to get under her skin.

"You don't know your Grandmaster very well, if you think he would defy a lady like that," Selah pointed out in a purr.

"Oh! She's a lady now, Gillian!" Eleanor laughed. The redcoat leaned forward with a sneer. "You are just a speck of dust. You and all your ilk."

"Why else would we burn your little village?" Gillian purred. She glanced at her comrade. "It was your father who was in charge of the raid, yes, Eleanor?"

The Templar snickered. "Yes. Made sure every single Assassin was cut down and every one of their homes was burned. He did quite nice job, from what I hear. And he _did _tell me all about it."

Bile rose to Selah's throat. But she knew she couldn't show weakness. The girl swallowed and spat with venom, "Is that what you are, then? A daddy's little girl who plays in costume?"

Eleanor's eyes dilated in rage as her face fell. Just as quickly, she raised a ridged hand to backhand the Assassin. Selah braced and prepared to retaliate. She never got the chance.

Just as the redcoat's arm twitched, a black hand shot out and snatched her wrist. The Templars let out small gasps while Selah leaped back in reflex. She glanced at the source of the new limb, only for her eyes to widen.

It was a tall man cloaked in all black, his tied-back hair and dark eyes the same shade. A thin, red scar cut across his right eye. Selah had to crane her neck to look at him, but she shivered at the frown he wore and the frigid, narrowed glare he gave. But it wasn't towards her.

"If you want to become a Templar," the man growled to Eleanor. His voice was deep, slow. Deadly. "Then you should learn some respect."

He had a thick Irish accent, thicker than even Haytham's British one. But it mattered little. His voice sent chills across Selah's skin. Apparently it did the same with the Templar girls, too, both being pale and mouths open. The man didn't care as he tossed Eleanor's hand down, taking a step back but continuing to leer at her. Selah swore the redcoat literally shrunk.

The silence seemed to last for an eternity before finally the dark-clad man turned away. The Assassin stared after him with her own mouth open, watching as he sauntered away without even glance over his shoulder. Gillian's voice interrupted her.

The girl waved her fan in front of her face. "What a dreadful man."

Eleanor sneered in agreement. "Once an Assassin, always an Assassin."

"What?" Selah whispered as she snapped toward the newcomer again.

"Oh? Didn't know that, did you?" the soldier questioned. "Yes. He was from _your _Brotherhood."

Gillian huffed. "I don't know what Master Kenway sees in him."

Selah ignored them as she continued to stare, pieces of what she knew intertwining. Yes, she remembered hearing several prominent members of the Brotherhood being assassinated, rumored to be by a single man. Even a Master Assassin from the Caribbean, Adéwalé, was killed by him. And another rumor, that the Master Assassins of the Order desperately tried to hush. One discussing of a traitor who turned his back on his brothers. And Selah remembered what James had called him.

Shay Cormac. The Assassin Hunter.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, slightly longer chapter at last. Sorry it was relatively uneventful, but I got some progress in there. Don't worry; we'll be getting some action soon.<strong>

**So Selah finally meets some other Templars and has a bonding moment with Haytham. I was scarred it was too soon, but I couldn't help myself. Hopefully it didn't come off too tacky and that dream did it for you; even I got nauseous writing it. I would hug Haytham, too. If any of you didn't know, Gillian and Eleanor are multiplayer characters, and I decided to keep their designs. And I finally re-introduce Shay.**

**SPOILERS**

**By the way, I hate to tell Adéwalé fans, but I did some research on ****_Rogue_**** to find some info, which included Adéwalé. Although it didn't mention his direct role, it said that he dies in 1758 after being murdered. Game ends in 1763. So… Yeah…**


	6. Chapter 6

Selah stared at the person in the mirror. Selah didn't know this girl. This girl wore a stern frown with furrowed eyebrows, shadowing her dark brown eyes. This girl was thin and pale, when Selah was supposed to be muscular and tan. This girl had scrapes and scars across her face. Selah didn't have any. But there was cold, cold voice of logic that told her. This girl was _her._

Selah carefully traced her face. Thankfully her face didn't look deformed or frightening, and many of the scrapes were already disappearing with pink tones in healing. But there was a pale line from her bottom lip to her chin and a crimson mark that curved around her left eye that the Assassin knew would scar.

The girl took the time to look over the rest of her body. Almost all of the minor wounds she suffered had healed, save for a couple scathes and bruises that were purple and black in "healing." The wound on her arm was still red and pink, but the black lines of stitches kept it from reopening. She found a long red line on her side, probably from a lucky swipe from a bayonet. She removed the bandages from her leg, too, only for it to look like someone had rubbed a cheese grater against her skin. Her hands didn't look much better.

After what felt like an hour of grimacing and gagging at her sensitive wounds, Selah carefully re-bandaged them. She knew she should be using fresh ones, but the doctor hadn't come in a while and she had no idea where new ones were stored. She certainly wasn't going to ask.

Selah chew her fingernails. A day had passed since Haytham's departure, and the Assassin spent the night alone with restless sleep. The nightmare had returned. It wasn't as gruesome or fearsome as the first, but it was enough to keep her awake for hours, alongside with the dark thoughts of her situation floating across her mind. These Templars were nothing but traitors and murderers. It was only a matter of time before they grew bored or tired of her, where they would either kill her or put her to better "use." Selah had to get out of here.

That in mind, the Assassin left her post and barged through the door like a caged animal. She only scanned her surroundings for guards only for a second before making her way to the nearest window. She glanced around a little more carefully this time. Nothing.

Without wasting another moment, she buried her fingers under the frame and pulled it open. The girl relished the gush of warm air. She quickly swung a leg over the window still, completely ignoring the fact she was two stories high. The Assassin quickly swung the second out and planted the soles of her feet on the cold stone, holding herself up with just her fingertips. With just one hand holding the outside window still, Selah quickly slid the window closed, leaving no evidence of her endeavor.

The moment the sound of wood hitting wood hit Selah's ears, her Assassin instincts kicked in. She leaped upwards, her fingertips and toes latching onto the smallest of footholds to propel her upwards. The Assassin scrambled onto the rooftop in a matter of seconds. Seeing a chimney a few feet away from her, Selah immediately slunk into its shadow. With a sigh, the Assassin closed her eyes and concentrated.

When she snapped them open, the bright world of morning was replaced by shadows.

Selah saw only the outline of her surroundings, but it was made up with the multiple tastes and smells that reached her, all mixing together but distinct at the same time. She tasted the gravelly dirt and soil cloaking multiple objects around her and the musky scent of the city.

Suddenly a shout across the fort placed a horrid taste of alcohol and tobacco on her tongue, making her gag. She looked over her shoulder towards the source to see the red outline of a man far down the wall. He was too far to notice her. Another quick scan of her immediate surroundings proved the same.

Selah grinned. If only she had thought of this earlier! Now strength finally flowed through her limbs, eager to be rejuvenated and used. However the comings of a headache came to threaten her newfound power. Selah blinked and the world returned to how it was.

The Assassin moved on to see the building rose above the height of the wall. And even though the two structures were several yards apart, with enough momentum she could easily launch herself onto the wall. She noticed with glee that this section of the inner wall joined with the outer, allowing only one leap to freedom. She grinned before taking off.

The Assassin leaped off the edge like she braced to fly, only to flail her limbs as gravity caught her. Selah didn't mind as she used the force to her advantage. Tucking in her limbs, she expertly crashed onto the top of the wall, rolling to break the fall. Knowing now she couldn't waste any time, she quickly scuttered to the edge, only for her stomach to drop.

It was at least a fifty foot drop. Even with all her training, Selah knew she would break a bone for sure. However, she noticed the wall was at an angle. A very steep angle, but Selah saw. Maybe she could use it to her advantage. That in mind, she planted her feet to the side and gripped the edge with her fingers. Squeezing her eyes, she let go.

The fall was quick. Selah let out a loud wheeze as her legs slammed onto the ground, absorbing the entire impact. They bent painfully and her body collapsed onto the ground. However the teenager quickly forced herself to her feet, even though her limbs screamed in protest. Selah didn't care.

The Assassin smiled. She was free.

* * *

><p>Selah bounded rooftop to rooftop, letting her instincts control her movements. Warm winds howled around her, bringing the scents of the city and the outside world. Her limbs moved unrestrained, blood racing at the newfound freedom. Every time she leaped to another building, the Assassin literally felt like she was soaring.<p>

Finally she settled on a slanted rooftop, overlooking the skyline of New York. Selah loved this view. She remembered she would pause alongside other Assassins to take in the sight. The New World. It was the Assassins who had it first—all to themselves in fact—after being discovered by Mentor Ezio Auditore's Assassins and then founded by John de la Tour. They had planned to rid of the Templars that had dared invaded and to open the minds of the people, to grant them the same freedom the Assassin could feel in their veins. But now, they were as available to the Cross as slaves on the market. Nothing would stop the people to be influenced to the Templars' lies until they could no longer think for themselves and find themselves in a world that was not theirs. It made Selah's stomach twist nauseously.

The young girl bit her lip and let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle that blew into the wind, resembling the eagle's call. She waited patiently for several long moments.

Nothing.

No flying streak of an arrow or materializing shadows. Not even a replying cry. Selah continued on.

For over the next hour, Selah would travel for several blocks and give the cry of the eagle, waiting patiently for the reply of her brothers each time. There was none. The young Assassin finally paused by the bell tower of a church, panting. Squeezing her eyes, she gave one last whistle, sharp and long. She swore this one carried all her desperation.

Moments stretched into minutes. Silence. Selah buried fists into her eyes and let out a tearless sob. Haytham was right. The Brotherhood was dead. No one would come for her.

Now what? Selah hurriedly tried to think of any shelter. The village was burned, no doubt the homestead, too. Any contact of the Assassins was most likely being hunted by the Templars as of now. There were maybe a few sympathetic gang members, but all the gangs were destroyed and their subordinates in hiding. There was nowhere in America to go…

Selah blinked. Wait. If not in not America… Europe.

The Assassin Order was spread worldwide. Hundreds of men and women sworn to the cause; thousands more who gave sympathy. And Selah knew for a fact that their main stronghold was held somewhere in Europe, established during the reign of Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Yes. She could go there. Her brothers there would no doubt help her. Maybe even they would send more Assassins to fight the Templars. She had to find a way there. Or very least establish some sort of contact with them. Even if it would take months…

Her mind made up, the Assassin focused her senses to check her surroundings. A sharp smell of gunpowder came from a few buildings away, alongside the scuffles of movement reaching her ears. She glanced over to see flashes of red. Regulars.

They stood on a higher rooftop, clutching their weapons as they scanned the city. No doubt they would spot her if she continued across the buildings. A miracle they haven't noticed her already. Scanning her surroundings, Selah discovered a pile of cargo stacked against the wall of her building. Staying out of the sight of the scouts, she clambered off the edge of the roof onto the supplies and onto the street.

Taking up her lessons of stealth, the Assassin nonchalantly navigated through the alleys and roads. She would occasionally join a crowd of people; naturally acting to belong when in fact she was well an outsider. When there were none to blend with, she carefully avoid the eyesight of any who would notice her. Even though she was avoiding attention, the Assassin apprentice felt highly exposed without the comforting weight of her hidden blades on her wrists. She tried not to think about it. Throughout her journey, Selah continuously saw the flashes of red of the British.

She tried not to curl her lip. The Assassins actually remained neutral during the war—or at least they tried to be. The Seven Years' War was nothing more than a contest of power—something the Brotherhood openly condemned. However, the Templars sided with the British, complicating things. Remain too neutral and the British would gain the advantage—and so the Templars. And so the Assassins found themselves leaning more towards the French.

It started purely out of politics against the Cross and the assistance was small—anonymous tips of troop movement or sabotage of enemy conveniences. It quickly escalated to assassinating British officers and raiding forts. And while the Colonial Assassins fought on the frontline, their brothers were in a fierce political war with their Templar counterparts in Europe. Their influence in France skyrocketed while their members in England battled Parliament and Templars for peace. But it wasn't just because of the Templars.

The Brotherhood soon found the British was using more force than necessary—placing soldiers in unnecessary stations and attacking before giving a chance of peace. And now the war was supposedly over—but redcoats still swarmed the city like it was still time of conflict. It had become obvious to the Assassins the British used the war as an excuse to exploit more control. But even with all their efforts, it was too late: the British had won. They had gained control over new territories, including part of the land of Louisiana and Quebec, even taking Florida from Spain. The Spanish then desperately held on to what they had left, only leaving a handful of islands to the French. But it was obvious the English had the most spoils. Now there was nothing to restrain the Crown and the Cross.

Selah was so lost in her thoughts she failed to observing eyes boring into her. The girl let out a cry of surprise and protest when suddenly a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled into a dark alley. A strong hand clamped over her mouth to cut her screams.

"Sh! It's me!" a gruff voice hissed.

Selah snapped her eyes open. She knew that voice. Giving them a gentle jab with her elbow, she pulled away and whirled around.

William de Saint-Prix. The man was tall and muscular, even though he was growing into his fifties. However his graying shoulder-length hair and trimmed whiskers betrayed his age. He wore a forest-sage coat wrapped around his body, neatly buttoned and straight. A hood covered his head with a tricorne hat on top, giving him a funny appearance but efficiently obscuring his face. But Selah saw that face perfectly at she peered up at his gleaming hazel eyes and charming smile. As well as the golden Assassin insignia on his coat and hat.

"William!" she cried in joy.

She launched herself at the older man, trapping him a tight embrace. William only braced calmly and immediately wrapped his arms protectively around her. Before he could speak, the younger Assassin whimpered into his chest like a lost toddler, "They're dead. They're all dead."

"I know, sweetheart," the man whispered solemnly. "I know."

Selah buried her face in his chest as he gently stroked her long dark hair. William was a Master Assassin and was one of the most respected members of the Brotherhood—possibly even more so than Achilles. He was born in noble France, but his commitment to the cause sent him to the Caribbean. It was from there he came to the British Colonies, alongside his associate Adéwalé. William decided he liked colonies and stayed, even purchasing a small property. However following Adéwalé's death, he had gone into hiding considering their ties.

Selah stayed in his embrace for several long moments until he finally murmured, "Have you been safe?"

The apprentice's stomach knotted. She pulled away. "The Templars—they destroyed everything. But they—" The young girl shut her eyes and shook her head. "They took me away, William." The man was already frowning. "They want me to join them."

"What have you said?"

"I have said nothing. I just escaped their fort moments ago."

William looked away and muttered something in French. Even with her lessons, Selah didn't catch what he said. But the Assassin quickly flipped back to English. "It won't be long before they come looking for you…"

"I need to get to Europe," the apprentice blurted. William snapped his gaze back to her. "We find our brothers from the Old World. They can help us." When the older Assassin looked away again, Selah pressed on. "You have a ship, don't you?"

"I do," the Frenchman muttered. "But without the others, it's not going to be that easy."

"What do you mean?"

William glanced at her, solemn. "Our fleet's been completely destroyed, Selah. What remained of it was burned during the attack. The _Aquila _and my ship were the only ones to escape."

Selah gasped. "But our fleet rivals that of the Crown's! You said so yourself! How can it be destroyed?"

"I think you know…"

A cold realization seeped into Selah's veins. "Shay Cormac…"

"He's dangerous, Selah. There's nothing deadlier than a man who's vengeful and determined. Don't underestimate Haytham, either. He's a cunning and manipulative bastard." He stared down at her. "Do not believe a word he says…"

Selah shook her head rapidly. "I know that already. That's why I need to get to Europe."

William closed his eyes in thought. "Like I said, it's easier said than done," he muttered. "Not only are we short on ships, but the British are monitoring the docks and the Templars are scouring the city for what's left of our Brotherhood. And even if we do get to Europe, it's not that easy to build up a fleet and stir up another war."

"We have to try, William."

The Master Assassin gave a defeated sigh and opened his eyes, allowing Selah see the scholar's calculating gaze. "The British or the French Brotherhood might do. And I _can _pull a few strings." He finally glanced at her. "But it'll take some time. Especially if we want to leave unnoticed. The British don't favor smuggling." Selah smiled in relief, but it disappeared to her brother's next words. "In the meantime, stay with the Templars."

"_What_?! No! I can't—"

The man roughly grabbed her shoulders, silencing her high-pitched protests. "Listen to me, Selah. I'm having enough time as it is staying away from their sights. If you come with me, they'll be looking for us both—making it that much harder to find a charter. We'll _both _be in danger."

"But—" Selah whined. William quickly squatted himself to her level.

"I know you don't like it. I don't, either. But if we have a chance—" The man sighed and continued in a softer tone, "It'll only be a little while, Selah. I know how brave and clever you are. If you can escape once, you can do it again." He squeezed her shoulders. "I'll see you safe. I promise you."

Selah shut her eyes. But she was just free! And he was telling her to waltz right back into her cage? The apprentice knew he had logic to it, though—he always did. He spoke the truth: once the Templars found her missing, they would not rest until she was found and either captured or both of them were killed. It would make it impossible to sail an unsanctioned ship out of the harbor. Also maybe this way, they'll have the element of surprise.

And Selah trusted the nobleman with her life. He and James became quick friends and the Frenchman gained a strong interest in her. And she him. He had even taught her some fighting techniques and told her stories of his adventures, including how he had outsmarted and assassinated a whore of a puppeteer. He was like an uncle to her.

Selah gulped and opened her eyes. "I'll do it."

William nodded in approval and gave her a reassuring smile. "Just play along for now. It won't be too long." The man stood back up. "Meet me by the docks by the Smith and Company Brewery in two nights. We'll leave then."

Selah nodded obediently, hoping she didn't look as miserable as she felt. She must have been tearing up, though, because William placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll get us out of here. We won't let the Templars get away with this. Good fortune to you, my dear sister."

"Good fortune to you…"

Selah quickly slipped away as William disappeared back in the shadows to make the arrangements. The young Assassin was so distracted with her stomach knotting more and more as she neared the fort, she failed to sense piercing eyes watching her every move…

* * *

><p><strong>I don't know if this chapter's too exciting, but I did try to add some interesting details. Starting with I'm continuing my use of multiplayer characters. The one in this chapter was the Huntsman, who I actually found very interesting. He still has the same design, I just changed the color because I thought it fit him more.<strong>

**I also gave my theory on the Assassin's position during the French and Indian War, which will come slightly into play as the story goes on. I did oversimplify the results of the war, so there may be some slight inaccuracy, my apologies.**

**Last but not least, I finally reveal Selah's Eagle Vision. Eagle Vision is actually both interesting and difficult to write. The ****_Assassin's Creed _****universe describes it the combination of using one's senses, primarily explained in ****_Black Flag_****. I'm also studying psychology, and there's actually a condition that is "similar" to it.**

**There's a condition called synesthesia, in which senses are crossed to where you taste sounds or hear colors; or experiencing a sense activates another. For example, a woman tasting bacon whenever she hears gospel music and a girl that hears clocks whenever she sees sushi. And yes, there are instances where one associates something with a color. Of course it's no "eagle vision," but I find referencing to it helps me write it out.**


	7. Chapter 7

Returning to the fort was actually easier than Selah thought. The Templars hadn't even realized she was gone: no bells rung, the redcoats were still posted at their stations, no Master Templars ran around in panic. At first she thought it would be impossible to re-enter the district with its intimidating walls forbidding any entry. But like God was on her side that day, she found a convenient route of loose bricks up the side of the wall; away from peering eyes. So with a talent that would prove impossible for the average person, Selah scaled the walls of Fort George and snuck back into the compound.

Now was the difficult part: waiting.

The Assassin would only have to wait two days before her next meeting with William—two more days until she could leave for Europe—but to the captive it felt like eternity. She spent most of her time locked in her room. What time she didn't spend in there, she spent wandering around the fort, continuing her search for any Templar secrets but to avoid contact at all costs. However she still came across the occasional Templar. It wasn't surprising the most contact she had was with Johnson. He would check on how she was doing and coerce her into a conversation, although she kept it brief and strict. He was no doubt doing it because he was ordered to. She encountered Hickey a few times as well, only to exchange sneers and insults. The Assassin even spotted Charles Lee a couple times, who was usually speaking with lesser Templars. Selah would immediately flee before he could notice her. The girl didn't fail to notice Eleanor and Gillian leering at her from a distance, usually commenting between themselves. However they never approached her. Apparently their encounter with Cormac had made them fearful of his wrath.

The Assassin never once saw the Irishman, not even a brief mention of him. Selah almost began to question if he even existed; that he wasn't some absurd hallucination. However she knew better. Shay was a hunter. He knew how to stay undetected.

The young girl now paced the corridors of Fort George, chewing her nails once again. Tonight was the night. Her meeting with William and to leave America. She would have to escape the same way as before, and then make her way across New York, the largest city in the British Colonies. If she made it to the docks in one piece, then they would have to slip the ship out of the harbor without any eyes noticing. Sounded simple from an Assassin aspect—but Selah knew a number of things could go wrong.

She was so lost in thought she started when a loud slamming noise filled the air. The Assassin leaped back behind a corner and peered around it. She noticed Charles Lee storming out a room, followed by a British officer. He had dark brown hair and beard around his mouth, looking almost Spanish. But his sharp eyes allowed Selah to identify him. Eleanor's father.

Lee and the redcoat exchanged a muttered conversation before disappearing down the hall in the other direction, leaving the door unguarded. Curiosity got the best of Selah. She snuck to the doorway, immediately noticed it was fancier than the other ones, being made of dark mahogany with the Templar Cross subtly etched into the wood. Selah grinned. It screamed of Templar secrets.

Once again the stars were aligned that it was unlocked when she tried the handle and slipped inside. She was greeted with a large study, dominated with a large, elegantly designed desk. A large bookshelf lined each wide of the wall, crammed with editions of all sizes. On the desk itself were neatly placed linen papers, all carefully placed and organized. Selah grinned as she realized what this was. The Grandmaster's study. No doubt she would find something useful here.

She immediately went for the desk, scouring through the papers. Even if she was leaving tonight, maybe she could find something that the Assassins could use against the Templars. She was only disappointed to find that the papers carried no secrets. The most prominent Templar information she found were general orders of footmen and a ledger detailing payment to mercenaries. The rest were just meaningless letters and business information—over half of them fake.

Selah made a hiss of distaste. Haytham was meticulous, she'll give him that. She crouched as she prepared to search through the desk's drawers, but a dark voice interrupted her.

"You're not supposed to be in here…"

Selah froze. She instantly recognized strong accent. _Irish_. The Assassin shot up. Standing in the doorway to the study was Shay Cormac.

The Templar stared at her with an inscrutable expression. Selah jumped away from the desk—and farther from his gaze—as she stumbled for words.

"I—I," Selah tried but failed. She desperately tried to think of a logical excuse as to why she was in the Grandmaster's study. Better yet try to explain why she was snooping through his private belongings. Or hell, even find a retort to distract from her actions. _Anything_. But no words formed and her mind offered no thoughts. "I was just—"

Finally Selah gave up. She slumped her shoulders and stared at the floor. She half-expected him to kill her right then and there or at least cruelly drag her away or rebuke her. The teenager was instead astonished when the man simply stepped to the side and waved his fingers. Selah understood the order and obeyed.

Avoiding his gaze or any sort of contact whatsoever, the teenager pushed past him and into the hallway. She wondered if she should run away while she still had the chance, but Shay had already joined her. Selah's throat constricted as he fell into a heavy stride by her shoulder as they walked through corridors in a deafening silence.

She anticipated him to start dragging her away to Lee or start interrogating her, but he was just as silent as she was, glaring ahead instead of sparing her a glance. In fact he seemed to be escorting her more than anything. Selah didn't know how long the silence lasted until she licked her dry lips and gulped. She couldn't take it anymore. "Are you going to tell Haytham?"

Finally Shay glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Not as long as you don't act on it," he said simply.

Selah gave another dry gulp and they returned to their solitude. She didn't even know where they were until suddenly Shay paused by a door. "Is this your room?"

The teenager blinked. How did he know where her room was? She didn't dare question it as she nodded slowly. Shay pulled the handle and stepped away to allow her entrance. She stepped through the threshold without hesitation. The girl meant to close the door, but Shay had already gained his hold.

"Don't cause any trouble," he warned in a dark voice, sending chills across Selah's skin.

The door closed with a click.

* * *

><p>Selah jumped into the shadow of an alleyway, hugging the corner of the building. A pair of drunks stumbled by, laughing and babbling unintelligibly. Selah slipped behind them silently. The Assassin's muscles were tense and her mind was sharp. She not playing a silly game of blending in or avoiding contact; she was to become a shadow of the night. A skill reserved only for true Assassins.<p>

James did everything he could to teach her the highest stealth and Selah participated on several missions of the like, but to the other Assassins she was but an apprentice. She still had so much to learn. So much to master. Maybe the British could teach her. And maybe if she proved herself, she'll be allowed return to the Colonies. Perhaps she'll be granted permission to assassinate Haytham Kenway…

Selah shook her head. Now was not the time for daydreaming. Her mind snapped to its deadly sharpness. Almost there… The Assassin slid into the next shadow.

The night was deadly silent with the moon lazily drifting between clouds. The only light was from a few lit lanterns and the soft moonlight shining onto the cool muddy-packed ground. It was the perfect night for Selah. The weather seemed to bend to her will. If she wished for more shadow, a cloud would hide away the moon's light. It was what allowed her to slip away from the fort. That and the half-awake guards were blinded by their own brilliant lanterns. An Assassin would say a perfect night was one with no moon, but for Selah, it acted like a beacon. The light all Assassins served for.

Finally the fresh scent of the salt reached her nostrils, defeating even the strong stench of the streets. The Assassin quickly heard the soft lapping of waves against reinforced wood. She smiled. She had reached the docks.

The girl climbed to the edge of her shadow and scanned her surroundings. The street was empty. The water was crowded with large ships of all purposes—from merchant to military—tied to the land like some great anchor. The looming building of the Brewery took up almost the entire space next to the harbor, its property even coming to the edge of the water.

The air was still and silent.

Selah scanned the harbor for a familiar sign, but she saw it: a shadow moving near the pier. A shadow she recognized. William. Selah sighed in relief, unable to stop herself from relaxing her muscles. Scanning her surroundings a final time, the girl finally slipped out of her hiding place and carefully approached the shadow. William stopped his slow pacing when he spotted her. The Master Assassin turned to her, giving one of his charming, reassuring smiles. He nodded in greeting.

Selah nodded as well. It was over. She could start again. To leave the New World to find a world of her own. A world where she could become a true Assassin—a Master. A world where she could redeem the deaths of her brothers and her teacher. A world where all would be free.

Selah's world shattered.

Everything was muted as suddenly William's body lurched, eyes wide and mouth gapping. A spray of dark blood exploded from his head, filling the air with a red mist. It wasn't until his body started to collapse when the sound reached Selah's ears. The deafening thunder of a musket.

Selah was completely frozen. Her bones where locked in place and her muscles were cold. She swore her blood and heart weren't moving. She watched the scene unfold with a silent scream until finally the sound returned.

"**_NO!_**"

She launched forward, only for something to lock her into place. Selah screamed as strong hands grabbed either side of her, the large bodies of men blocking out her surroundings. The Assassin flailed, but her restraints did not weaken.

"Thought ya could get away, did ya?" a slurred accent mocked.

Selah screeched as Thomas Hickey appeared across her vision, dressed in his mercenary outfit and musket in hand. He was grinning ear-to-ear at her.

"Come on now, it can't be that easy, eh?" Selah spat like a rapid feline. Hickey ignored her. If anything, he was only more amused by her rage. "Gotta 'and it to ya, though. Been lookin' for this one for months. Thanks, sweet'eart."

He moved closer to her, probably to tauntingly flick a strand of hair, but Selah screamed again. She raised her body to launch her legs towards the man, effectively landing a powerful kick to his jaw. Hickey let out a shout of pain and flew back, doubling over and clutching his face. When he looked back up, his eyes were dark with rage and blood trickled from his chin. He stormed towards her, but suddenly was cut off by a red arm.

"Enough now," a regal Scottish accent interrupted. A man barged his way between them. He wore a red coat similar to British officers, but a brown cloak draped over his shoulders. His brown hair and eyes were covered by his hat. Even with her rage, Selah was able to identify him as Johnathon Pitcairn.

"Let it go, Thomas," the redcoat urged, pushing the other Templar slightly.

Hickey stepped away with a sneer. "Like it matters. Oi, 'Aytham, wot do you think we should with 'er?"

Selah's blood ran cold.

"I'll decide that, Hickey," a cold, British voice spoke up.

Selah stiffened as she spotted the broad form of the Grandmaster in the corner of her vision and sensed his suffocating demeanor. She dared a glance to see Haytham's face was an emotionless mask of stone, completely ignoring her existence.

Hickey sneered again and turned around. Selah cried when he kicked William's body. She was so distraught she failed to notice Pitcairn and Haytham's death glare at their disrespectful associate.

"Pity," Hickey sighed. "Thought a Master Assassin would be more of a challenge. Guess not."

"I rather not have any more challenges," Haytham growled. He glanced at Pitcairn. "Handle this, Johnathon. Last thing we need is the people to think the soldiers are shooting onto the streets."

"Understood, sir," Pitcairn confirmed obediently.

Finally the Grandmaster laid his eyes on Selah. The Assassin felt like every fiber in her body froze from the ice in his eyes.

"Take her back to the fort," he ordered. "I want at least two guards to keep watch on her."

Selah's handlers didn't hesitate to roughly drag her away, never once was loosening their grip. The last thing she saw before being forced away was William. He was face down on the cold stone, face still perfectly obscured by his hood and hat. A pool of blood surrounded his head. Selah let out a heartbreaking cry. The girl was flailing madly as the Templars dragged her into an alleyway to take her back to the fort. They were losing their grip on her. Finally an arm slipped free.

Selah grabbed the arm of the other man, trying to pry her own away. The Templar who lost his grip desperately tried to regain a hold on her, but she denied him with a swift kick to the crotch. He collapsed in a yell of pain. The Assassin twisted and delivered a violent punch to the other man's throat. He released her with a choke. The teenager then rammed into him full force, slamming into him into the wall and crashing his head against the stone. She took off before his body could even slide to the ground.

Like her sprint from the Homestead, Selah flew through the city, running as fast as her body would allow. She didn't dare waste time searching for pursuers or shelter, only caring on an escape route without a thought of slowing down. But it wasn't long before the shouts of pursuers reached her ears. Before she could determine their source, a team of shadows slipped from the night and formed a line to block the street before her. Selah spotted the light glinting off the bayonets as the mercenaries lowered their muskets.

Just before she came upon them, the Assassin ducked into an alleyway. She thanked her guardian again as she immediately spotted a tall ladder leading to the rooftops. Without hesitation, she leaped onto it and scaled it faster than she thought possible. She glanced down to see a Templar already climbing after her, several more preparing to join him. Selah didn't hesitate to give the top of the ladder a strong kick, sending it crashing down accompanied by a yell.

The Assassin raced across the rooftops. She leaped between them at soaring speeds, feeling like she barely had a step for each building. The wind was now roaring frantically in her ears, when before it had been silent. The yells of men constantly filled the air, like the baying of hounds searching for their hunt. How many were there? Selah wasted precious concentration as she focused her senses.

Her bleak world was replaced by shadows. Immediately the overwhelming taste of blood and gunpowder cloaked her tongue, along with a deafening thunder in her ears and a pounding in her head as her instincts screamed of danger. She dared to glance at the streets below to see swarms of red keeping pace with her. She even spotted the jumping flashes of crimson bounding on the rooftops. The Assassin urged herself onwards, but suddenly her Vision sensed a new presence.

Selah gasped at the new wave of blood and death that filled her mouth, rising to fill her nostrils. The thunder was accompanied by a piercing ring. Her vision flashed with a brilliant red as a new glowing figure joined her above New York, freerunning as fast as her. Even with her panic, she was able to recognize who it was. Shay, the Assassin Hunter.

Selah gasped again as she noticed he was going to cut her off. Without thinking, she leaped off the side of the building, crashing onto the hard ground below. She cried as she clumsily rolled to break her fall. The Assassin ignored the pain in her shoulder and ankle as she took off again.

Thankfully she sensed no mercenaries near her, but now the teenager saw the streaks of shadow above her as the Assassin Hunter easily kept pace from the rooftops. Selah ran harder and tried to make random turns to shake him off, but it was no use. Shay always remained close.

Finally she took a random turn between a wooden fence, only to run into a vacant lot. She skidded to a halt as she noticed with dismay that the surrounding buildings had her completely boxed in. Selah looked around widely, trying to find an alternative escape route. Her stomach plummeted to frigid depths as suddenly a heavy thud and the rattle of weapons sounded behind her. Selah spun around in panic, only in horror to see Shay, blocking the way she came. The Assassin Hunter's eyes were narrowed dangerously as he stalked towards her.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. The mockery and deadliness in his voice made Selah tremble.

The Assassin apprentice scrambled away from him, desperately scouring the small field for a weapon. _Anything _she could use. Selah finally rammed into a lifted log, where she looked down to see a shiny object. The panicked girl scrambled for it and held it out in front of her.

A saw.

The Assassin held the bizarre weapon like a sword, even though it was anything but. Hell, it could cut, _couldn't it_? But Shay's look showed he was less than impressed. He could barely cock an eyebrow before suddenly Selah lunged forward, swinging the tool towards his midsection. Shay lunged back, easily dodging it. Selah swung it again towards his shoulder, but the man simply sidestepped it. The girl repeatedly attacked with her newfound weapon, even though the Assassin Hunter avoided her attacks like she was swinging a twig at him.

Finally Shay slapped at her hand, knocking the saw away with a cry. Selah stumbled backwards, once again realizing she was defenseless. In another bolt of energy, she spun around to run away, only to slam into a solid object. Selah screamed as strong hands grasped her arms.

"Good Lord, you two are fast," Haytham gasped in exasperation.

"Heh, perhaps your age is catching up to you, old man," Shay replied, almost teasing.

Haytham snorted as Selah continued to flail. Even with her screams she couldn't believe what she was hearing. They were trying to capture her and they were simply having a friendly conversation? The Assassin pounded against Haytham's chest, forcing his grip to loosen.

"Shay, a little assistance, please," the Templar begged.

Suddenly Selah felt a presence behind her before a pressure appeared on her shoulder. She let out a high-pitched cry as something pierced her neck. Immediately her vision darkened and her body numbed.

"Sleep dart," Shay identified. "She'll wake up soon."

Selah fell into unconsciousness, the Grandmaster and the Assassin Hunter standing over her.


	8. Chapter 8

Selah opened her eyes. Immediately a fierce pounding reverberated in her skull and her mind splintered into unfocused thoughts. Heaviness radiated across her body, numb and unmoving with reluctance. Enough remained of the girl's awareness that she understood that this time it wasn't weakness. She was _drugged_. Or very least wearing off from being so.

Selah squeezed her eyes, desperately trying to remember what had happened. Immediately memories of the night before flooded her mind. The girl's gasp only died to a pathetic whimper. William… Her friend and elder. Most likely the only other Assassin left in America. Her only chance to escape and redeem herself. Now he was dead… All because of her. She led the Templars right to him. They had somehow known of their meeting. But how?

Suddenly Selah remembered when she met William after she escaped, she had felt like she was being followed. She blamed it on nerves, and she was too distracted with her thoughts to truly notice. But now she remembered feeling the same gaze last night. Watching her every move.

Shay.

He had _followed _her. He had seen her with William. Suddenly his words after he caught her snooping became very vivid. The Templar wasn't warning her of trespassing; he was warning her not to go to the meeting. Selah bit her lip harshly. How had she been so _stupid_? She was trained better than that. And because of her William was dead.

No.

It was the Templars. _They _had killed William, preventing her escape. _They _had killed the Assassins, taking her as their slave. _They _had killed James…

Gaining new conviction, the Assassin reopened her eyes only to hiss as she registered the bright light of a lantern. Her vision was blurry and sensitive. Thankfully though her eyes quickly adjusted… only to see a dark figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

Haytham leaned on his knees, staring at the floor between his legs. Selah ignored him though as she forced herself to sit up, only to groan. Her head spun at the motion. Finally Haytham glanced up, almost looking concerned when he noticed her delirious state.

"Careful," he warned. "Shay had to give you a strong dosage. It should be still wearing off."

_You don't say… _Selah wanted to bite. Instead she glared at the Grandmaster and accused with hatred and venom, "You killed William."

Haytham didn't try to hide his frown. "We had no choice."

"Bollocks!"

At an impossible speed, Selah flipped the bed sheets off of her and retracted her legs. Before Haytham could move to stop her or even know what she was doing, she slammed her feet into his side. The Brit gave a loud grunt as he was shoved off the bed, falling to the floor. Not hesitating, Selah jumped off the mattress and skipped over Haytham, dashing for the door.

"You _are_ strong," she heard Haytham mutter as he scrambled to his feet.

Just as the Assassin touched the handle, the Templar's arm intercepted her, followed by the rest of his body. Selah gave a yell of protest as he tried to wrap his arms around her to restrain her. She ripped away and jumped to the other side of the room. She bristled and snarled like a caged animal, and Haytham completely blocking the doorway certainly didn't help. The entire exchange had only taken a matter of seconds, but it was enough to have Selah's adrenaline pumping.

"Is that your peace, then?" the Assassin demanded. "To murder and enslave when things don't go your way?"

"Isn't it the same with the Assassins?" Haytham retorted.

"No! We kill only because we have to! For a higher purpose, unlike you!"

"And what is that? Anarchy?"

"For the freedom of will! Those wish to restrain it are nothing but tyrants! It's only they we _assassinate _because they _deserve_ to die."

"Oh? Then the man you killed last night, did he deserve to die? Was he a tyrant just for following orders?"

Selah froze. Suddenly the image of the man she forced into wall flashed across her vision. She had killed him? She couldn't think about it much as Haytham's heavy sigh drew her out of her thoughts. His voice went back to its controlled volume, when before it was a near yell.

He began to pace in front of her and waved his hand, like he was giving some lecture. "You just described every government in the world. People don't do as they wish; they never do. They do what their government _tells _them to do. There will always be someone of more power or more privileged, and the underprivileged will follow them. Because they _want _to. They want the guidance and have no interest in the responsibility of power." He waved his arms at her, as if challenging her. "There is no such thing as absence of authority. So how can there be freedom?"

Selah shook her head in disbelief, trying to block out his words. "There _can _be freedom in government," she argued. "Just look at the native tribes!"

Alongside enlisting the help of smugglers and mercenaries, the Assassins made treaties with the neighboring Iroquois, even inducting a few of their warriors into the Brotherhood. Selah even had to the privilege to visit one of their villages and was able to learn a great deal of their culture. To start with they had no real leader. Only a Clan Mother to offer wisdom, and a council to lead in times of strife. But things were still accomplished—if anything, better than their colonist counterparts. And unlike the colonists, the Indians had _respect _for the ways of the world.

When she mentioned her argument to Haytham, she saw something flash across his eyes, telling her he knew her meaning. She continued on, trying not to screech but it was hard.

"And just look at the war! What has monarchy gained for anyone? All it does is create wars of power, destroying lives and homes. You really think the people are content with that? I doubt they are, but no one knows because they can't talk about it. The people are denied to the right to voice what they believe in." Haytham's narrowed gaze showed he was not convinced, making Selah continue in exasperation, "The Assassins fight for a world where those who speak won't be shunned. We _do not_ fight for anarchy." Selah became well aware she was using James's words. "We fight for free will. Allow people to make their own choices. Even if there are differences in classes, at least they will be equal in mind."

Finally Selah went silent, her patriotic speech somehow quelling her intense anger. She stood there, feeling a strange sensation crawling across her body but not knowing what to call it. Self-consciousness? Conviction? Never before had she spoken her beliefs aloud, never mind so strongly. The girl was always around people who thought the same, so she never needed to. She just hoped her words made sense, instead of sounding like childish babble. Probably wouldn't make a difference anyway, directed towards the Grandmaster of the Templars. The man wore an inscrutable expression, peering at her through narrowed eyes. Selah dared her body not to move or shrink under his gaze.

"You have great conviction," he murmured finally, "I'll give you that much. Even if it is error."

Selah honestly didn't know if that was a compliment or not, and had no idea had to take it. The teenager decided she didn't care as she stated with confidence, "As long as there's a free mind in this world, the Assassins will survive. And you know this—that's why you try to restrain whatever you find. But there will _always _be someone who will fight what they believe in—and the Assassins will always back them. You will _never _destroy us."

Haytham's half-curious gaze gave away when he looked down with a snort, smiling. "Well we've been doing an efficient job of that, my dear."

_No, you haven't! _Selah wanted to snap at him, but decided instead snarl with resurfacing anger, "Why bother with me, then? Aren't I just another Assassin to you? Why not kill me?"

"I already told you," Haytham sighed, "I have no intention of _killing_ you. And besides, I rather not strike a lady."

"What do you want from me, then?" She already suspected the answer, but wanted to hear the words.  
>Haytham opened his arms. "Simple. Swear loyalty to the Templar Cross and embrace our teachings. You will be given a new life. Protection. I swear it."<p>

Actually hearing it aloud made it feel like Selah was shot with a bullet and her blood rose with fury. "You're mad!" she spat.

Haytham left out a half-frustrated sigh and slumped his shoulders. He obviously wasn't expecting this to be so hard. "Look, you can deny it all you wish, but I know you have no wish to surrender your life. You have proven that enough. I instead offer another one. Is that really so awful?"

"Yes."

The Templar closed his eyes with another sigh, obviously trying to control his own emotions. He was silent for a few moments before saying, "You want me dead."

"I do."

The Grandmaster reopened his eyes and glanced at her, his body language oddly relaxed. "How about a contest, then?"

Selah cocked an eyebrow, inviting him to say more.

"How fair are you at swordplay?"

The Assassin knew where this was going. "Fair enough."

"Very well." Haytham took a step towards her in a turn, but made sure to keep his distance. "A duel, then. Defeat me, and you will be granted your 'freedom.' I'll even have you chartered to England, if you wish."

Selah couldn't help but widen her eyes. "Are you serious?"

Haytham nodded. "You have my word." He suddenly raised a hand. "But, if _I _win, you end this silly game of yours and surrender your loyalties to the Templars." Selah couldn't help but frown in distaste, but listened with interest as the Grandmaster went on. "If you happen to _kill_ me during our little scuffle, you will take no blame. My Templars will not touch you nor try to avenge me. Meanwhile, I will restrain myself from seriously hurting you. You will have the complete advantage."

Selah smiled in pleasure. This was far too easy. Almost too good to be true. But she had already learned by now that Haytham did not lie. The Templar seemed to noticed she had calmed and was highly considering his offer, allowing him to cross his arms behind him and continue in a matter-of-factly tone.

"However, I will be fighting for my life, so don't expect me to be particularly easy on you."

Selah's grin widened. "I would have it no other way."

"Then you accept?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Selah clenched and unclenched her hands in anticipation. She tried to stretch out her stiff muscles as she anxiously paced her small spot. The weather was the same as the night before: clouds drifting slowly across the sky, occasionally blocking the brilliantly shining sun. Selah was grateful they had decided for the contest to be done outside instead of some stuffy room hidden away inside the fort. Inhaling the fresh air and the soft wind in her hair spurred energy through Selah's veins. Not near as effective as the winds in the village out in the frontier, but it was enough. They stood outside the Templar buildings of the fort, the inner gates closed to prevent anyone from accidently wandering in and whatever debris that had littered the courtyard had been moved to the side.<p>

Her restlessness reaching its peak, Selah turned around and selected a sword from an array presented to her. The Assassin swung it calmly to test its weight and feel. Not as fitting as her cutlass, but it would do. She swung it a few more times to allow more adjustment and stretching. The teenager already done several quick exercises, knowing even with last night's sprint, it had been over a week since she properly used her muscles. Last thing she needed was to be skewered by a sword just because of a spasm.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Haytham playing with his own sword as well. He swung it a few times and twisted in it his hand, even pressing his fingers to the blade to test its sharpness. His face was emotionless, but Selah sensed no concern coming from him. Humph, she'll show him.

A scuffle of footsteps by the dirt-laced courtyard reminded her of their audience.

"Hehe, can't 'member the last time I saw the Boss in a grapple," Hickey was chuckling.

"This should be interesting," Johnson agreed, fingers to his chin.

"I just hope the fool knows what he's doing," Church growled in noninterest.  
>"I give 'er ten seconds," piped Hickey.<p>

"Give the girl a little more credit than _that_," Lee said. He grinned. "I give her _twelve._"

"Come now," Pitcairn protested. "I'm sure she—"

Selah finally tuned out the Inner Sanctum's discussion on how long she could stand against the Templar Grandmaster as she turned to him. He was nearing as well, peering at her from under his tricorne hat and cloak still elegantly draped over his shoulders, the blood-red underside flashing brilliantly in the sunlight. Selah restrained herself from rolling her eyes. He could at least take them off. But the cold shine of the Templar's blade clutched in his hand kept her nerves sharpened.

"You can still yield, you know," he offered.

"No," Selah refused, raising her sword.

Haytham stepped back in a battle stance, but still had his sword lowered. "Very well…"

They stared coolly at each other a moment more. Then through an unspoken challenge, both charged towards each other. Their blades meet between them. Selah could only keep hers in place for a second before Haytham pushed her back with raw strength. The teenager stumbled away only for the Templar to swipe towards her midsection, but the Assassin leaped back. Haytham kept the offensive as he struck his sword forwards like an extension of himself. Selah deflected it, only for the man to swing it over again towards her head. Selah blocked it.

Recalling a trick she had learned in training, the apprentice twisted her sword over Haytham's, forcing it down and piercing his defenses. Just before the tip of her sword could touch the man's coat, the Brit forced his sword back upward; forcing Selah's to slide off with a sharp sound of grating steel. The Grandmaster swung again, forcing the Assassin to block it before ducking out of the way.

Suddenly her instincts were sharpening and her mind going back to its detached state. James's teachings rung in her ears.

_"__Focus!" _he barked.

Selah scanned Haytham's every movement—from the twitch of a muscle to the flick of clothing. She analyzed his attacks and used it to anticipate the next move. His fighting style screamed of English—he was practically fencing.

_"__Balance!" _James snapped.

Whenever Haytham's strength met her own, the teenager stayed on her feet, refusing to submit to the force. She expertly weighed her offensive and defensive choices, keeping strict control over her movements and her sword.

_"__Stay sharp!" _her teacher howled.

Selah refused to let her thoughts drift as she only thought of the fight. She only saw the movement of her body and of her opponent's. She even refused to register her own name.

Finally their swords met between them once again, their bodies inches apart. Selah pushed with all her strength, but in her surprise Haytham stepped back. The result sent her tumbling forward, allowing the man to manipulate her sword downwards, and exposing her body. But instead of raising his sword to her chest, he twisted her blade away from her and turned his body.

Selah wheezed painfully as he planted a strong kick to her abdomen. The teenager stumbled backwards, Haytham chasing her. She tried a frantic stab with her sword, but Haytham deflected it and used the force to push her again. Selah cried as she tumbled to the ground. Adrenaline still pumping and mind in panic, the teenager attempted to scramble to her feet, only for something sharp to suddenly press against her neck.

Selah flinched. Her vision was blurry, forcing her to wait a couple moments for her senses to readjust. Her heart only stopped. Haytham stood above her, a leg on either side of her and the tip of his blade to her throat. Selah could tell from the pressure that any sudden movements would draw blood. But what made her blood run cold was when she twitched her fingers. Her sword was gone.

She peered up at Haytham, who was smirking victoriously.

"I win," he purred.

Anger and humiliation pooled to Selah's stomach, having barely her recognize the small applaud from the side of the match.

"Ha!" Church yelled triumphantly. "Twenty seconds! I win!"

Selah blinked and her violent thoughts were replaced by shock. What? She glanced over to see Lee slap a handful of coins into the surgeon's hand, Hickey laughing hysterically between them. She had to digest what they were talking about.

Twenty seconds. The match lasted twenty seconds. Selah flinched again. How?! The battle felt like at least a minute! Then she remembered adrenaline made time slow, making it impossible to distinguish seconds from minutes. So while it felt like an eternity to the Assassin, in reality only twenty seconds had gone by.

She stared up at Haytham, trying to remember what had happened. Had she made a mistake? No, she couldn't think of any. She had done all she was trained to do. Then— Selah realized with horror that Haytham outmatched her. She was a child with only several years of swordplay; Haytham had practiced and mastered the art for decades. He was far stronger and larger than her, making her look like a runt. The humiliation returned, making Selah's cheeks burn scarlet.

_Dammit_! How could she have been so foolish?! He was the _Grandmaster_. Of course he was more skilled than her. Even though she realized of her costly mistake, she continued to glare at the Templar with anger. He _knew _that, too. He knew it would be a contest where he would excel. He had tricked her. And she had fallen for it.

Suddenly Haytham finally moved his blade away and outstretched a hand towards her. Understanding the gesture, Selah wanted to refuse, but realized the Templar had positioned himself where she couldn't get up without his help. Selah's lip curled as she reluctantly took his hand. Haytham calmly pulled her up with a small grunt of effort. Selah tried to move away once she was on her feet, but suddenly Haytham grabbed her and pulled her close. She winced as she felt his hot breath on her neck.

"Learn to choose your opponents wisely, Selah," he advised in her ear. The coolness of his tone and how he said her name sent chills across the Assassin's skin. However her teenage side still grumbled. Oh, he knew alright.

The Grandmaster wisely stepped away from her personal space. Selah stood rigidly, still trying to decipher the situation. She had _lost_. Now an official slave of the Templars. Her instincts screamed for a new escape plan. But her mind's logic found none. There were no allies in the city to help her. She had no sources or tricks to hide or escape. And the Templars had proven that they would not let her go so easily. Selah was trapped.

The girl swallowed and tried not cry. For a moment she considered scrambling for a sword and to kill the Grandmaster right then and there, but a cruel logic dictated that would only reward her with an angry mob of Templars. So fighting to control her emotions and blocking out the laughs of the Inner Sanctum she was. However the Assassin wasn't depressed enough to fail to sense a familiar sharp gaze boring in her back. Realizing who it was, she snapped her head up and whirled around.

As she expected, she spied Shay watching her from the edge of the courtyard. He leaned a shoulder on the wall of a building, arms crossed over his chest and expression stoic as ever. The Templar almost looked as bored as Church a few moments ago. Either he was unimpressed or held no interest in what had occurred. Even though they didn't make eye contact, the Assassin Hunter seemed to notice Selah had spotted him, prompting him to push off the wall and disappear into the shadow of the corner.

Selah watched him go with a narrowed confused gaze. She couldn't stop herself from speaking out loud. "Does he always lurk?"

Haytham followed her gaze and caught on to what she was talking about. "He'll come around," the Templar shrugged. Selah now felt the Grandmaster's gaze on her. "He highly considered killing you, you know…"

Selah snapped her head back at the man. His stony eyes told he was not jesting. The teenager narrowed her eyes and demanded, "Why didn't he?"

Haytham glanced back to where the Irishman had vanished. "He didn't tell me…"

The Assassin stared up at him, more confused than ever. However a scuffle of footsteps interrupted them.

"Congratulations, Master Kenway," Lee piped merrily. Selah snarled at him, changing her mind to stab him instead. The Templar was oblivious even as he looked down to her. "What will you do with her now?"

_I'm right here! Don't treat me like some lost pet! _Selah wanted to roar. She began to think of ways how to quickly kill him and rid of the arrogant man once and for all, but Haytham interrupted her. His words made her heart stop.

"In fact, Charles," the Grandmaster confessed, "I think I'll invite her to my home."

* * *

><p><strong>Haha, now things should get interesting. I kind of have this story separated in "parts." These first few chapters were basically describing Selah's kidnapping and how she got coerced into the Templars in the first place. Now we finally get into Selah's more "official" time with the Templars, the next several chapters showing her adjusting to her new situation.<strong>

**I hope Haytham and Selah's confrontation went okay, and wasn't too irrelevant from what just happened. But I thought they needed a clash of ideals (and a real clash, while we're at it), and might as well get all out and over with. I mostly wrote their argument by combining the philosophy in the games and actual realism of real-world examples.**


	9. Chapter 9

Selah stared out the carriage window, watching the world crawl by. Scores of people swarmed the streets of New York, all minding their own business without a care of the world as they mixed together. Many laughed as they conversed with their associates, save for a few patrons arguing with stubborn merchants, all the while salesmen or town criers would yell above the noise. Selah wished she could join them.

But now she was like bird in cage: able to see the world and what she missed while the outside saw her, laughing and smiling at her restricted freedom as she cried for release. And there was nothing she could do about it. Suddenly Haytham's voice came, interrupting her somber thoughts.

"So, Seh-lah," he said. The girl glanced at him, thinking he expected something from her with how he pronounced her name. Instead the man's eyes were slit with thoughtfulness and curiosity. "That's a Hebrew name, yes?"

Oh, he was educated enough to recognize the origins of names. Selah wasn't impressed. But reluctantly knowing silence would mean nothing, she played along.

"It is," she confirmed.

"What does it mean?"

Selah gave a small swallow. She disliked talking about her personal life, especially when it built her identity. Her name was sacred to her. She certainly didn't want it tainted by Templars. But she could tell by Haytham's gaze he wasn't going let her slip away easily and a voice said continued defiance would gain her nothing. Selah wasn't ignorant nor spoiled; she knew the reality before her. She was well aware there was no escape for her—at least as of now—and all she could do was make her life slightly easier.

Suppressing a heavy sigh, she reluctantly informed him, "It has many meanings. However, my mother told me she named me for its meaning of 'fortress.'"

Immediately the Assassin clenched her jaw shut once she realized she revealed more than she intended. She prayed her mistake wasn't noticeable, but the intensity of Haytham's gleam proved it was too late. Selah thought quickly, deciding to show that the Templar wasn't the only educated one. "And 'Haytham' is Arabic, correct?"

Haytham smiled and answered willingly. "Indeed."

"And it's meaning?"

"'Young eagle.'"

An aged Templar named after the spirited version of the Assassins' iconic symbol. The irony. Selah looked back to the window to continue her solitude, but to her dismay, Haytham questioned her.

"So then you have a mother," he observed.

"_Had _a mother," Selah corrected bitterly, more frustrated at herself than him. No need to let him know that, though. "She died when I was very young."

"Then how do you remember her?"

"I recall only a few things. My name being one of them."

Selah knew she shouldn't be telling him any of this. Either all her frustration was catching up to her or her inability of control had reached its peak, causing her tongue to burn.

"And your father?" Haytham questioned.

"I have no knowledge of him."

"So you're an orphan…"

Selah's jaw clenched.

"How did you come across the Assassins?"

Haytham had repeated the question he had asked her a few days ago, which only caused Selah to imagine ways to kill him back then. Now she inwardly cursed as her mouth moved before she could stop it.

"James found me on the streets. Saved me from a group of redcoats, actually. He saw I had strength for such a young age. He was the one who took me in."

"So you were close to him," Haytham digested.

"He taught me everything I know."

Haytham dipped his head. "Then it's no wonder you hate us. I am sorry…"

"Why would you be?"

Haytham's gaze softened even more. "Because I know what it's like to lose someone."

Selah glanced at him. "And who did you lose?" Her tone wasn't sympathetic.

"My father…" Now it was the Grandmaster's turn to stare out the window. "He died when I was a young age."

The cool pain in his eyes told there was more to the story. Selah found herself trying to shove down the sympathy in her heart. Was he saying all this just to get close to her? And why was she blabbering in the first place? Maybe she was going somewhat mad. That all the stress she had suffered was using any emotion it could find for release. And if she was going to stay with the Grandmaster (ugh, just the thought sounded horrid), she could at least try to ease the tension with at least some knowledge of one another. Didn't mean she had any less hatred for her slaver.

Selah considered continuing the conversation to learn about the Templar himself, but suddenly the carriage rattled to a halt.

"Ah, here we are," Haytham piped merrily.

Selah's heart only sunk. She didn't make eye contact as the driver dutifully opened the door. Haytham exited first, only to turn around and offer a hand. The teenager begrudgingly accepted it as she climbed onto the street. Only when her foot touched the ground, she hissed when shot of pain came from her ankle. Apparently her fall from the other night was greater than she thought. But she refused to show her discomfort. Haytham didn't show his concern.

His home seemed quite fair, honestly. It was a rectangular two-story manor, like most properties in the colonies. The exterior was made of brilliant, pure-white wood and dark-shaded shingles made the roof. The manor was not as grand as the Davenport Homestead, but it was on a greater scale than most homes. It was still more modest than what Selah was expecting from the Grandmaster of the Templar Order. Then again, he couldn't particularly build a palace without raising eyebrows.

Selah shifted behind him, signaling she still wasn't enlivened. Haytham understood and led the away, suppressing his gentleman demeanor of flattering her. When they neared the porch, the front door flew open to reveal a young lady. She appeared in her early thirties but her bright blue eyes shone with wisdom and patience, as well as an eager kindness. Her sandy blonde hair disappeared in the white cap around her head. She wore a humble green dress absent of any wrinkles or stains, a tawny apron wrapping over it.

"Master Kenway!" she greeted in a cheer. "So good to see you return safely!"

Haytham smiled warmly. "Thank you, dear, it's nice to be home."

He courteously accepted her hand and kissed it. Selah allowed herself to roll her eyes. She looked back when the woman noticed her, eyes widening with curiosity.

"Oh, is this the girl you mentioned in your letter?" she asked.

Haytham looked between them. "Yes. I would like you to meet Selah; she'll be staying with us. Selah, this is my maid and head servant, Ann."

_Head _servant? As in more than one? Dear, Lord… Maybe he wasn't so humble… Selah was making another comparison that there wasn't a single server in the entire Assassin village when suddenly Ann neared her enthusiastically. The teenager couldn't stop her body from stiffening and slightly leaning back. Even though Selah enjoyed warm people—which Ann glowed with—her instincts were still cold. The maid was oblivious.

"It is a pleasure to meet you!" the woman smiled with a mother's kindness. "Please make yourself welcome."

However Haytham must have noticed Selah's rigidness. "I'm afraid she's still skittish, Ann. She's been though quite an experience. Please be gentle with her…"

Selah shot a glare of death at the Templar, but he was already turning away and making his way inside the house. Ann however softened with sympathy and compassion.

"Ah, you poor thing," she cooed. "Do not fret; Master Kenway will take good care of you now. Come, I'll show you your room."

The woman spun on her heels and led the way, leaving Selah trying not to snarl. The maid's energy and pity certainly didn't help the Assassin's dark mood. She was disliking her stay already…

Ann ended up giving her a brief tour of the entire manor as she escorted her inside. The interior was similar to the outside—if not revealed a little more extravagance. While the walls were painted a pale shade and furniture looked modest at first glance, but analyzing their elegant design and rare material revealed they were on the more expensive side of the market. On the right of the doorway was a large library crammed with gigantic bookshelves stuffed with editions. A few pieces of comfortable furniture offered places to sit. Across from it on the left side of the foyer was a large living room with more expensive décor.

Heading down the hallway showed a staircase leading upstairs and a large study similar to the one in Fort George. Selah only had the briefest of glances inside before Ann ushered her onwards. Further back in the home was the kitchen—already filled with the clanking of dishes as chefs already began to cook tonight's supper. Not surprising it was connected to a large dining room, which was probably the most decorative of the house. Finally in the far corner were spare rooms for Ann and a couple servants, out of view of any temporal visitors. Selah mildly disliked the idea that they lived here—made them sound like concubines.

Her escort then led her upstairs, showing her another half-study, half-library room on the right. Directly next to it was a lounging room, similar to the upstairs of the Homestead. The hallway bent, cutting off the sleeping quarters of the household. Selah was just grateful enough that her room and Haytham's were on opposite ends of the corridor.

Her tour ended when Ann opened a door saying, "And this will be your room."

Selah followed her in. The room wasn't terribly different from Fort George: an average sized room with the main feature a queen-sized bed taking the center. However there were also two large dressers pushed up against the wall, as well as a small writing desk and chair. Selah glanced around. It was slightly cozier than the coldness of the fort and it would certainly suffice, but the teenager couldn't help but have another pang of homesickness. She couldn't help but wonder if her pain and depression would ever recede.

"Can I get you anything, dear?" Ann's cheery voice interrupted.

Selah shook her head. "No… thank you."

Ann gave a respectful nod. "I understand. Come find me if you change your mind."

The maid disappeared from the room, leaving Selah alone. The Assassin let out a sigh. How had it come to this? The teenager suddenly felt tired. Even though her day was relatively uneventful (besides last-minute bickering with Templars before her leave and moving in with the Grandmaster), she felt its stress knocking at her skull. With a moan, the teenager collapsed on the snowy white sheets of the bed.

She stared at the ceiling for a moment with a blank stare before turning over and falling asleep.

* * *

><p>The light from the dying sun was pouring through the shutter of the window when Selah opened her eyes. At first a moment of disorientation clouded her mind, making her give a sharp gasp of panic. Then she quickly remembered she was in the personal home of Haytham Kenway. The reminder only made her sigh and drape an arm over her eyes. How she wished she could go back to sleep…<p>

But feeling alertness in her thoughts and energy in her muscles, Selah knew that wouldn't happen. So reluctantly the teenager lifted herself off the bed and straightened her wrinkled clothes. How long had she been asleep? Had she missed supper, perhaps? No, Haytham would've wakened her.

So the girl stepped out of her room and down the hallway, seeing if she could find anything of interest. All she had to hear was the familiar deep voices coming from the upstairs study. Immediately Selah raised her eyebrows and slipped into the next room, pressing her ear to the wall. She recognized the owners instantly.

Haytham and Shay.

She listened intently, hoping the two distinct accents together wouldn't give her a headache.

"So you're leaving…?" Haytham's upper-class British one came, quickly followed by Shay's brogue.

"Aye," the Templar replied. "There have been reports of Assassins in control of smuggling in Georgia. They're supposedly headed by a pair of twins called Adam and Eve."

"Poetic…"

Selah practically heard Shay shrug. A silence appeared between the two, making Selah tight with tension. Finally Haytham's voice came.

"So what is your opinion of the girl?" he asked.

"Don't have one."

If Selah wasn't trying to eavesdrop she would roll her eyes. Meanwhile she could feel the disappointment from Haytham and could only imagine his face. However Shay spoke up again.

"Do what you have to do, Haytham," the man advised. "She can only be stubborn for so long."

Selah suppressed a growl, instead inventing another death scene.

"I suppose your words have merit," Haytham agreed. "I simply wondered if you had any interest in her. You both come from the same Brotherhood, after all."

The Assassin swore Shay snorted. "I don't."

Selah found herself agreeing with Gillian: Shay _was_ dreadful.

"I suppose understand," Haytham sighed. "Though she does seem curious in you…"

Another death scene.

Meanwhile Shay gave another snort. "Of course she is. The fire attracted the cat, as well. Mind telling her that." A pause. "Just keep an eye on her, Haytham."

"Very well. I bid you good luck on your hunt."

The Assassin Hunter made a noise and Selah stiffened as the door of the study opened. However the Assassin snuck to the threshold of her own room, only exposing an eye in the hallway. She saw Shay's dark form retreating down the stairs. Suddenly Haytham appeared out of the study, arms behind his back and expression inscrutable.

"Selah, come out here, please," he called.

Selah's heart stopped. Of course he would find her… Selah wondered if she should go hide in the corner of the room or find some nonchalant reason why she happened to there in the first place, but thought of none. Admitting defeat, she shuffled out of the room like a toddler knowing they were in trouble. She carefully avoided Haytham's gaze as he peered at her.

"I'm assuming you heard all of that?" he questioned.

"Just… that Shay was leaving…" she admitted quietly.

Haytham blinked but his lack of expression didn't change. "Are you going to stop him?"

The Assassin painfully remembered her last plot against the Templars. "No…"

"Good." He turned around. "Come along, then. Our dinner should be ready."

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_No! No! No! No! Stay with me!" Selah cried._

_Blood poured between her fingers, cloaking her entire hands. Even her arms were soaked and she was aware of several stains on her robes. With a sob, she pressed harder, only for more crimson liquid to seep through her fingers._

_"__Stay with me!"_

_She looked to the person's face. Instead of the bloody corpse of James, it was a dying William. The Master Assassin had his eyes open with their light quickly fading and his tanned skin was pale. He was unmoving from her touch._

_"__WILLIAM!"_

_Suddenly the Frenchman gasped and his body lurched. However instead of jumping to his feet, he turned his weakened gaze to a sobbing Selah. With a smile that was too much like James's and just as much as his signature ones, he slowly reached up and placed a hand on her cheek. The Assassin apprentice was oblivious to the wetness of blood from his touch._

_"__I'm sorry, Selah…"_

_Suddenly his light was gone and his mouth closed. His hand dropped from Selah's face. Immediately the frantic girl harshly grabbed his shoulders and let out an ear-piercing screech._

_"__**WILLIAM**__!"_

_Suddenly a force caused her to look up. When she did, she was only greeted with a dark figure standing over her. Only a_ _masculine build and a stern frown could be seen. And the glint of the flintlock pointed at her. Selah froze as she stared into the barrel of the gun. She suddenly tasted death on her tongue._

_The gun fired._

Selah bolted awake with a loud gasp, cloaked with sweat. Immediately she started shivering, causing to her hug her body, even though it offered no warmth. Now she saw William's death as well. Maybe even her own. She didn't know who the dark figure was, but the familiarity burned in her mind. Was it Shay? Haytham? Maybe both. Selah let out a soft sob and curled her body into a ball, still hugging her shoulders. Moonlight illuminated the room, giving it a soft light but making the shadows of the room look menacing. Selah saw the dark figure in each one of them…

Panic and fear coursed through her. The young girl refused to close her eyes in fear the dream would return with vengeance. Adrenaline finding its way to her veins, the Assassin skipped off the bed and out of the room. She found herself heading towards Haytham's room before she stopped herself. Her stomach knotting, she turned around, only for a wave of hysteria to make her turn again. The teenager practically made a small dance as she jumped back and forth between on which direction to go.

Fuck. What was she _doing_? Once again Haytham's kindness from the previous dream flashed across her vision. Did she actually want comfort in him? Selah tried to shake the notion from her mind. He was the _Grandmaster_. Her enemy. Her slaver. She should hate him with every fiber in her being. But the childish stubbornness refused re-entry of her dark room. _Fuck_.

Squeezing her eyes, Selah turned a final time and shuffled to Haytham's bedroom door. Naturally her hand froze before touching the handle. She gave a small sigh. She knew this wasn't natural. To seek comfort in her enemy. She had dreamed of William's death, after all. But Haytham gave her a sense of warmth and protection whenever he wasn't under her skin. The warmth and protection the trembling child desperately craved.

Selah snatched the handle before she could change her mind. Gulping, she slowly turned it and silently pushed it open—millimeter by millimeter. The teenager peered through the widening crack in attempt to spy the interior of the room. One thing she hadn't thought of was how Haytham would react to her sneaking into his quarters. Selah pushed the door further, her muscles trembling with the urge to slam the door and run.

Finally she saw into the room. Light poured into this room as well, showing its contents. It was similar to hers, only slightly larger and grander furniture. It had a central bed as well, except it was king-sized and clothed with more expensive sheets. Curled in those sheets was Haytham.

The man lay on his side in his night clothes, back facing her. His hair was still tied in its red ribbon, only that it was loosened from sleep. Although at first glance he seemed asleep, but Selah noticed the stutters of his shoulders, showing he was awake. He must have heard her. The teenager swallowed and quickly spoke.

"Haytham?"

"Hmm?" the Templar replied sleepily.

"….May I come in?"

Haytham hummed again, like he was already falling back to sleep but Selah took it as a yes. She quickly but silently skirted inside and closed the door. Her legs like pasta, she carefully made to the bed. Thankfully Haytham was sleeping on the edge, leaving plenty of room for her on the side closest to the door. Selah carefully took up the space, but didn't settle under the clothing and kept a distance from Haytham. She laid there awkwardly with her eyes open. She couldn't help but wonder if this was entirely appropriate: a young girl sharing a bed with an old man she shared no relation with. Haytham's voice suddenly broke her thoughts.

"Was it another dream?"

Selah nodded even though she knew he couldn't see her. But she assumed the ruffle of cloth answered him.

"Do you want to discuss it?"

"No," she answered meekly. They lay there silently for several long moments. Finally Selah whispered, hating her voice wasn't stronger, "I still can't forgive you."

"I never asked you to."

Selah looked down, not knowing what else to say. The girl didn't dare move as Haytham turned over with a grunt, his stony eyes meeting hers.

"Move closer," he ordered patiently.

Hearing no suggestive tone in his voice, Selah awkwardly wiggled towards him. When she was close enough, Haytham reached out and laid his arm on her hip, hand on her back. The young girl fought a squeak as he pulled her towards him. However he stopped before she made contact, having their bodies several inches apart with only Haytham's arm between them. Selah looked into the man's soft gaze, feeling his breath on her neck.

"Better?" he asked.

Selah nodded timidly before looking down and slightly curling, bringing a hand near her face.

"I'm sorry…" she whined.

"For what?"

"I-I don't know." Selah forced her eyes closed. "Why me?" She continued as Haytham let out a questionable hum. "Why let me live? Why keep me?"

Now it was Haytham's turn to shift. "I haven't been very honest with you, have I?" Selah didn't reply, but the Grandmaster went on anyway. "I can see how strong and intelligent you are. Not to mention the courage and conviction you possess. All noble qualities." His voice dropped to a lower whisper. "You have an incredible spirit to fight. A very rare quality."

Selah listened him, not stiffening as he unconsciously stroked his thump on her hip. Still she didn't take his words to heart. They were obvious qualities he wanted in a perfect soldier. She began to wonder if her decision to come to him was wise, but his next words interrupted her.

"And I empathize with you. I want give you the same chance I was given, but I do not wish to break it as it was for me."

Selah opened her eyes and looked at him. That cool pain had returned. The Assassin dared.

"What do you mean?"

"I was taken in by the Order after the death of my father," Haytham explained, voice low with both nostalgia and pain. "A man named Reginald Birch became took me under his wing, becoming my mentor. I learned to trust him." Suddenly something flashed in the Grandmaster's eyes. "But he eventually broke that trust."

"How so?"

Haytham looked back into her eyes, but failed to hide the betrayal and hurt in his eyes, even the growing anger. "He had murdered my father."

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, longer chapters! Yeah, I got carried away with the fluffiness and bonding in this one. But I can finally start easing the tension now. Don't worry, though, I still have plenty of action planned.<strong>

**And no, I am NOT giving Selah Stockholm syndrome. She is not falling in love with Haytham. I'm just trying to make her human. Yes, she's a badass Assassin, but she's still a young girl with emotional trauma. I'm not making her naïve either (like Connor was); just that she's somewhat ignorant of the way the world works, ONLY seeing it from an Assassin perspective. As for her name, I'm actually in love with it. I actually first found the name when I was looking for colonial names I could use. Seeing it on the list and liking its uniqueness, I chose it. It wasn't until after I finally created Selah I found the meanings of the name are "strong tower," or "fortress" and it's a sound said in Hebrew after a prayer or to reflect on what has been said. I thought both meanings were absolutely perfect for Selah. That said, hope you—**

**Wait a sec.**

**NO SHAY! You can't leave! The fanfiction needs you! I even put you down as a main character! You'll be gone for ****_months_****! Haha, don't worry, Shay ****_will_**** be coming back and will have a ****_much_**** more prominent role upon his return. And by then I will have completed ****_Rogue, _****allowing me to be much more accurate with his personality (unless I happen not to like the game's version of it). Until then, I actually have another idea for Shay.**

**I put in the conversation between him and Haytham for a reason. I plan to make a one-shot of Shay that will be based on his adventures in Georgia (and it will be a really long one-shot; by the way, I'm choosing Georgia for a specific reason, I'll explain when I post it). It will mostly just be me playing around with his personality and character. However, since it will be based on this universe and on my theories of Shay, it will be dark. So I warn you now.**

**I plan to post it on Tuesday to celebrate the release date of ****_Rogue. _****If you like my writing or enjoy Shay or simply curious, feel free to check it out.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I decided to be generous today and give you guys ****_two_**** chapters! The first one's a little short and sort of a "filler" chapter, and I thought that wouldn't be fair to those who want progress in the story. So I added a second which I think will be a little more likeable. Both are a little shorter than normal which is another reason why I decided to post them together. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Days soon stretched into weeks. The warm summer months quickly changed into a rapidly cooling autumn, turning the air sharp and crisp with deadening foliage creating a new landscape. Meanwhile life in the Kenway manor was relatively uneventful for Selah. Bored, she spent most of her time locked in her room or within the library. It wasn't a surprise for the Assassin find majority of the books were based on Templar philosophy, and she didn't hesitate to cast them away. She did however (after a great deal of looking) find a few safe novels, including Shakespeare and political readings. Anything would do at this point.<p>

Her demeanor softened somewhat as well, becoming more tolerable of Haytham and closer to Ann, even couple of the other servants. It didn't take long for the maid's stubborn warmness to thaw Selah's cold barriers. They eventually became more open with each other, Selah finding herself confiding with the other woman. However her relationship with Haytham still remained distant.

She never told him any more about herself—not even her likes or dislikes—while she never pried any information from him. The only time they really spoke with one another was during meals—and then it was only idle chitchat. The Grandmaster would then spend the rest of his time either in his study or gone into the city. There would be times he would be reading papers far after Selah had fallen asleep or he would be gone for days without a word. Selah honestly didn't care, or at least she didn't think she did. In return the Templar respected her solitude, never invading her privacy or even trying to enforce Templar studies upon her. He wisely decided it was still too soon for that.

Haytham also wisely never tested her, even though the emotional girl still had her fits of depression and homesickness. The minor fits would usually be tamed by Ann's soothing words (although Selah never told her what the cause of her distress was). Haytham would participate, too. Whenever he noticed her souring mood, he would either force her to do some extracurricular activity or sometimes even have her accompany him to New York. The stronger fits would have her long for escape and relit her hatred of Templars, having her stare at her window into the long hours of the night. She even acted on it a couple of times: once escaping in the dead of night only by either bad luck or Haytham's ingenious, ran straight into a redcoat patrol.

The patrol dutifully returned her to where she belonged. She was surprised Haytham didn't punish her or even mention the incident to her. He did however seemed somewhat colder the several following days, at times not even looking at her or when he did there would be disappointment. Selah refused to say anything; deciding she would not give him the apology he probably wanted. She attempted to prove this point by slipping away again. She was accompanying Haytham through the streets of New York when she crawled away when he was distracted. However once again she didn't make it very far before she caught—this time by Charles Lee himself.

Although Haytham was able to convince him that Selah had simply wandered off by accident, being a curious teenager and all, but Lee still didn't hesitate to imply her misbehavior or send her suspicious glares. Selah didn't care, using it as another excuse to dislike him. Meanwhile Haytham got her message and returned to his normal demeanor, understanding not to expect anything from her. As for other Templars, Selah avoided them altogether. Whenever Haytham happened to bring his associates home as guests, the teenager would usually lock herself in her room until they left. Haytham allowed her, even letting her be absent for meals with them. And when she was forced to go with him on his "business trips," Selah would make no contact whatsoever.

And then there were the nightmares. They would come every few nights; the severity of the dream was varying. But the content would always be similar: the death of the Assassins, the destruction of her home, murderous Templars thirsting for blood, the carnage of faceless figures. Some would simply leave Selah awake for several hours—shivering in fear—until sleep retook her. Others would have her scream into the night, attracting Haytham or sometimes Ann to wake her. Either one would stay by her side until she reluctantly drifted off into sleep.

However there would be the few nights she would awake in a fit of hysteria, causing her to seek shelter in the Grandmaster's quarters. Usually he pretended to remain asleep, but if he sensed her trembling uncontrollably or on the verge of sobbing, he would spare her a few reassuring touches. But every time he would spend the night with her, the man would be gone by morning. It couldn't help but remind the young girl of the first night she spent in his bed.

Even though Haytham told her what she knew was one of his darkest secrets, she had still fallen asleep somewhat content. But when she had opened her eyes, she found herself back in her room with her door closing gently. And the fact Haytham never remained after her nightmares made it that much clearer. It wasn't that Selah expected more of him—in fact she still kept him at careful distance, despite all his kindness—but it put her in a strange state of self-consciousness. Did he dislike her company? Was he secretly fearful of her? No, that didn't make sense. He wouldn't offer his home in the first place if that was true—never mind strain so much to comfort her.

Eventually she came to the conclusion he was almost as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. He knew just as well they were enemies and apparently the Grandmaster had no gift with children. Selah had even dared to ask Ann of the man's family, only for the servant to confess she hadn't known him to have any sort of women in his life. Still the British noble had an art of placing a mask of his true opinions—Selah would give him praise for that. It actually made her wonder if she could make a greater attempt of kindness, but quickly decided the idea was too absurd. For now the Assassin would continue her solitude. Or try to, at least.

Selah collapsed onto the library couch with a groan, tossing away her book. She had officially read all the non-Templar volumes in the entire household. And none of them were worth re-reading. The teenager half-wondered if she could request Haytham for more, but quickly dismissed the idea. Not only did she not have a clue what she precisely wanted, she couldn't simply walk up to the Templar Grandmaster and say, "Your library is too boring. Find me something based on Assassin philosophy." The best she would get would be a laugh.

The bored teenager opened her eyes and stared at nothing as she thought of some other activity. She thought of none. Ann was still cleaning, Haytham was locked in his study, and she was forbidden to leave the grounds without an escort (Haytham still didn't have full trust in her, either). She remembered she had been able to befriend a couple of the chefs, even given permission to help them cook (according to Haytham she wasn't half-bad), but it would be couple hours before dinner would be made.

With a growl, Selah looked back to the lines of editions crowding the wall. Already her stomach was twisting, but she really didn't have a choice. Getting up, she scanned the shelves for any titles that happened to stick out to her. After somehow procrastinating her search, her eyes oddly glued to a certain thicker book, actually looking aged. Reading the golden title, she read: _The Templar Knight and the Crusades._

Ugh, it just screamed of Templar propaganda. But for some reason the teenager found herself intrigued. It was during the Crusades the Templars made themselves famous, and it was during those times the Assassin-Templar War was at its peak. Yes, the Assassins fought in the Crusades as well, but thanks to successful Templar propaganda, no one knew. Selah had a sudden wave of curiosity if this book could tell what had happened during those years. It would obviously be extravagated in the Templars' favor, but her imagination could fill the rest.

And so the young teenager sat down with the book in hand. She expected it to be distasteful. Boring. Anything that would make her regret her choice. What she hadn't expected to be _engrossed._

Instead filled with holy praises for the Order, it was filled with romanced adventure and drama. Young knights from all over Europe traveling across entire kingdoms and spans of seas for years, destined to arrive in the Holy Land of their religion's birthplace. There would be men who would go to fight for the honor of their families, the pride of their nation, or simply prove their love to their interest. Although each knight had a different cause for their departure, they all eventually became bound in a common cause and to Selah's surprise—chivalry. Each warrior was made to vow their valor, honor, and loyalty, and expected to follow it. The Assassin was amazed to find it similar to the Assassin's Creed, though she knew the Templars had no such thing.

To respect the weak. To never harm another Knight, Christian, or the unarmed. To serve one's lord or lady without hesitation. To defend one's religion and kingdom. To never lie. Honor. Every expectation was filled with honor.

Of course there were a few brief mentions of the Assassins, usually depicting them as mindless murderers, but Selah was able to push pass it. And what the Assassin didn't expect to find a passage personally written by Robert de Sable, Grandmaster of the Order of the Knights Templar.

_"__The war between the Christian Crusaders and the Muslim Saracens drags on, each side fighting for what they think is just. But I know the soldiers grow weary. Already I have convinced many to swear loyalty to the Cross, promising a New World. Yes, little do they know they are just pawns in a war that is far greater than just the Crusades. The war of Templars and Assassins. Indeed, hashashin that form a cult in what they call a Brotherhood. They are weak; hiding away in their so-called fortress called Masyaf. But they are getting stronger. Already eight of my Inner Sanctum have been killed. Only I remain. And I know of their murderer." _Selah's eyes almost popped out of her skull as she read the next few lines, rereading them over and over. _"An Assassin by the name of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. A demon in a man's skin. No, not a demon. A warrior. A very skilled one. He will come for me. I can only pray that Maria—"_

"Selah?"

Selah slammed the book closed with a start. She looked up to see Haytham standing in the doorway, interest in his eyes. This was his library, so it wouldn't be surprising if he every book by heart. So he would know what book Selah held in her hands. However the Grandmaster's made an attempt to veil his curiosity while Selah hoped her cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"Come. Our supper's ready," the man reported.

Supper? Selah didn't have to look at a clock to see how late it was. When before the sun was shining brilliantly through the window, the glass was now painted a deep purple of the growing evening. How could so much time pass so fast?! However the teenager gave an obedient nod. Not finding a place to stash her read, she helplessly placed the book on the table and joined Haytham outside the room.

The gentleman courteously stepped aside and allowed her to take the lead to the dining room.

* * *

><p>What Selah had read burned through her mind all through dinner. All her life she imagined Templars to be brutal and evil—especially after her recent experiences. However the Templars of the Crusades seemed to be of a different breed. Ones who fought not only for their own values, but for peace as well. How could that be? And Robert's letter echoed in her thoughts.<p>

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. The greatest Assassin ever to live. As long as Selah could remember she had heard great tales of him. Mentor Davenport had tried to silence the rumors, saying Altaïr did not want to be remembered as glorious legend. That didn't stop the stories though. How Altaïr defeated half an army without a scratch, how he single-handedly saved Masyaf from a Templar siege, how he assassinated many high-ranking members of the Knights Templar—including Robert de Sable—and how he had saved the Brotherhood from its darkest hour and rebuilt it to the creed it was today.

The Assassin's poetic train of thought was broken when the door to the dining room opened. Ann strolled in, a steaming mug in her hand.

"Here's your tea, Master Kenway," she said.

"Ah, thank you, my dear," Haytham smiled.

Ugh, he was so high maintenance. Only a Brit couldn't last an hour without his damned cup of tea. Ann placed the beverage by him and exited the room with a dip of her head. Selah glanced at her leave and found herself voicing what she had been wondering since she came.

"Does she know?" the girl asked.

"Know what?"

Selah suppressed rolling her eyes. "That you're a Templar…"

The Grandmaster blinked in surprise and stared at her for a moment. Then suddenly the man gave an honest laugh. Selah quickly noted that was the first time he did so, and that it was just as musical and deep his regular tone.

"Lord, no," Haytham chuckled. "Ann has no business in that sort of affairs."

Selah was actually surprised. Ann must have _some _idea. She lived in his home, for Christ's sake!

"But isn't she your personal servant?" the teenager questioned.

"So?"

"Well—" Selah stuttered, really not knowing what to say. "Then what does she think you do, then?"

That had to be some foundation she could use. All the man did was work! Did his head maid really never questioned it or caught on? Even though, she felt self-conscious and embarrassed when Haytham only seemed amused by her argument.

"Simple. I am just a businessman to her," he explained. "Which isn't too far from the truth. She has no reason to think otherwise."

Selah stuttered again, only for this time her voice to leave her entirely. She quickly looked back to her food, though she still felt Haytham's amused gaze watching her.

"Any other questions?" he asked.

Selah gulped as she remembered her reading. She did, actually. But to him it would only sound as random as the first. Not to mention it bordered on treason of the Brotherhood. Her mouth moved on its own, but her voice wasn't very strong.

"What do the Templars strive for?" she asked. She quickly tried to word more properly. She understood the Templars wanted 'order,' but for what purpose? She decided to voice it. "What do you plan to achieve by gaining control of everything?"

Haytham leaned back and his amusement vanished, but he wasn't solemn, either. "Same as you. Peace. Justice."

"How?" Selah said the word before she could think of better phrasing, but it was honest.

Haytham seemed to understand her meaning. "No different from what you Assassins go on about. Everyone will stand as equal. People will be given the same rights and mind under a _single_ rule."

"_Your _rule."

Haytham didn't seem offended. "If it must be so."

Selah went back to her food. Little did she know now it was Haytham's turn.

"And what about your lot, hmm?" he questioned. "How does do you gain equality from anarchy?"

"Freedom," Selah corrected through a mutter. Haytham only shrugged. "And it's freedom of mind we seek. They will become equal because no one will be chained. I already told you. And it's the only way the world can move forward. With their own independence people can do what the wish to change the world, at the same time have understanding of one another."

"How can you understand each other if everyone has different privileges?"

"They'll have the same privileges."

Haytham shrugged. "Then your world is no different from ours."

Selah glared at him. "Of course it is. Then why do we fight?"

"A fair question."

The Assassin blinked, but Haytham regained his charming smile.

"It is amusing, isn't it? We wish for the same goal yet we continue to slaughter one another? All because of difference of opinion."

"Yet we say the other is wrong."

"Then it appears both our Orders are flawed."

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, just one I just used to explain life on the Kenway manor. Although I did try to slowly introduce grayness to Selah, but for some reason I couldn't get that conversation to feel right. So sorry about that, but that should be the last Templar-Assassin based argument. Although I actually enjoyed writing this chapter, especially writing from Robert de Sable's perspective. I don't know why, but I could picture his voice perfectly.<strong>

**Oh, by the way, the Assassins (aka hashashin) ****_were _****a real organization (more of a cult) operating during the Middle Ages. Like the franchise, they were infamous for assassinating prominent members of society, usually the ruling Seljuk. And yes, they were said to be rivals of the Templars and Masyaf is real as well. It's actually really interesting, go ahead and google it.**


	11. Chapter 11

Selah awoke with a groan. Her body was sore and her mind a fog; and the brightness of the morning certainly didn't help. The teenager was up for most of the night thanks to another nightmare. She spent this one alone, deciding not to seek Haytham's comfort. She was re-annoyed with him after yesterday's conversation, even though she was partly angry with herself for becoming so curious. It felt like they were back where they were, when they had just become tolerable with each other. Selah groaned again as she turned her head and opened her eyes. Only when she did, her gaze locked with hazel brown eyes.

Selah let out a shout of surprise, completely drowning out another yelp. She flew back on the bed, only to yell when suddenly the mattress disappeared. Selah crashed onto the ground, the bedclothes she had dragged along with her still tied around her body. She moaned in disorientation. She almost thought it was Haytham for absurd reason had come to her bed, but quickly remembered the man had stone eyes, not hazel. Confused, she looked back up at the bed.

She was greeted with a small head looking down at her. It was a young boy, probably only eleven years of age. He had short chocolate brown hair and his wide eyes were certainly hazel. The boy squeaked when Selah looked up, even flinching back behind the rim of bed. Just his eyes and top of his head remained, continuing to peer at her. Selah just blinked in confusion, trying to figure out where this boy had come from. Did Haytham really did have children she was not aware of?

Selah blinked again and tried to move to get up, only for the boy to give another squeak. In a blink of an eye, the rascal flew off her bed and out the door with a small slam. Now Selah was really confused.

What just happened?

* * *

><p>Despite her odd wake-up call, Selah entered the dining room for breakfast fully-clothed, stifling a yawn. She immediately noticed Haytham wasn't the only one in the room. He took his usual seat at the head of the table, but there another man next to him. Johnathan Pitcairn. And what was on the redcoat's lap what caught Selah's attention. It was the boy that snuck her into her room.<p>

He sat on Pitcairn's legs, snuggled into the man's chest. He was making an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact with Selah by staring timidly at the floor. Even though the Assassin was able to make the similarities between the two guests. The same brown hair and gaze, both even having the same stern facial features. Oh, his son. Well that made certainly more sense.

The teenager settled by Haytham's right, happy that her food was already waiting for her and wasn't cold yet.

"Glad you could join us, Selah," Haytham greeted.

Selah only grumbled as she was already took a bite of eggs.

"How's the Kenway household suiting you?" Pitcairn asked in a friendly tone. At least he wasn't an arse like most soldiers…

"Fair enough," Selah said simply, keeping her voice level.

The soldier looked to his boss. "That true, Haytham?"

Selah ignored him while Haytham chuckled. "Rest assured, John. I would've told you if she was trouble."

Templars… Even though the Assassin was grumbling again, she looked up when Pitcairn spoke up again.

"Oh, I like you to meet my son, Robert," the redcoat introduced, grabbing his son and shifting him slightly. Robert only gave squeaks of protests and continued to look away. Pitcairn only chuckled and explained, "An intelligent lad, but I'm afraid he's a timid fellow."

Haytham was chuckling as well. "He's grown, too. You're a head taller than the last time I saw you, Robert."

Robert's cheeks reddened, but he finally spoke, even though it was shaky and low. "T-thank you kindly, sir."

Haytham smiled while Selah rolled her eyes. If all they did was fuss over children then it's no wonder why they kidnapped her. She should've stayed in her room. The girl went out of her way to avoid Haytham's guests, however it was too late to escape Pitcairn. Besides, he tended to be more tolerable than his associates. Deciding that wasn't really the case today, she was trying to come up with an excuse to leave when suddenly Haytham addressed her.

"By the way, Selah, I'll be leaving today," he informed. "Though I should return by sundown. Johnathan and I have business to attend to."

Usually Selah the most would do was only shrug, but feeling Pitcairn's curious gaze on her, she mumbled, "Yes, sir." However the officer's next words made her flinch.

"Speaking of which, do you mind if I leave Robert here? I'm afraid his mother has run out to Boston with our maid and I don't want to leave him alone."

"Not at all," Haytham replied. "I was about to suggest that, in fact." He glanced at Selah. "You don't mind keeping an eye on him, do you, dear?"

Selah felt her cheeks flush with anger. Babysitting?! That's what she had been degraded to—watching stranded children of fucking Templars?! Oh, they had to be doing this on purpose… It was hard to believe they would actually plan all this out, but nothing surprised the Assassin anymore.

Feeling the stares of the men boring into her and knowing making a scene would be useless, the teenager swallowed and said rigidly, "I wouldn't mind at all."

Pitcairn gave a nod of approval, but once he happened to look away, Selah gave Haytham a glare that spoke her true opinion. She swore the Grandmaster flinched.

* * *

><p>When Haytham and Pitcairn finally left it was still all too soon. Selah had planned to find Ann to help her with Robert, but only to her dismay she discovered the maid had went into town to visit the market. Great. The one day she leaves. Haytham definitely did this on purpose…<p>

But what the Templar wanted from her, the Assassin had no idea. The teenager was in fact notorious with children. Although she adored them and praised them from a distance, she had no idea how to deal with them personally. She herself was actually one of the younger apprentices of the Brotherhood—some of the recruits being full adults. Yes, the Brotherhood welcomed Assassins of all ages, but one still had to go through the same training as everyone else. From infants born to the Order to grown men recruited to the cause.

Selah had to remind herself that Robert was simply eleven, only a few years younger than her and was at a mature age. However how he stared up at her and never strayed two feet from her suggested he was more of a toddler. Selah sighed. She had enough trouble trying to entertain herself, never mind someone else. She was seriously tempted to tell him to find a book and leave him at that.

Instead the teenager found herself sitting on the couch of the living room, bored, with Robert sitting across from her. His gaze was cast downward and he swung his leg slowly. The Assassin was just thinking what to do when suddenly the young boy spoke up.

"S-so are you Master Kenway's daughter?" he blurted.

Immediately Selah's stomach churned. His daughter? Oh God no… But telling herself that was logical guess for the boy, she kept her voice calm as she said simply, "No. I'm not related to him."

Robert only blinked in surprise. "Then how did you come to his household?"

He had to ask that…

Selah had to swallow when she found controlling her voice harder. "He… took me in from my former home."

"Where was that?"

Selah fought a sigh, knowing the only way to please him was to answer his question. But she knew couldn't say simply she came from an Assassin village. If Ann didn't even know Haytham's position, then it was likely that Robert was ignorant as well. If he was, telling him that would probably give the wrong impression and scare him. And even if he did know, telling of her origins would probably make him more uncomfortable. If that was possible…

"I was raised in a village in the frontier," she decided on. There, it was even the truth.

However to her disappointment, Robert's eyes immediately shot up with awe. "Oh! You're from the frontier! Did that mean you hunted in the wilds?"

Selah gave a small cringe. In fact she never desired anything to do with hunting. She had pushed past killing scores of men, but for some odd reason the killing of animals broke her heart. She remembered once she had followed along on a hunting expedition with a few other Assassins, only to be on the verge of sobbing when they shot a young deer in front of her. While James had took pity on her, the other Assassins laughed and teased her for her weakness.

"No."

"What did you do then?"

"I… was taught how to fight."

The young boy's eyes went even wider. "Fight? Fight who? Are you a soldier?"

"In some sense. But I can do a few more than most redcoats."

"Like what?"

Jeez this child's curiosity never ended. She should've shut up him after the first two questions. It was too late now, though. And for some odd reason, thinking of her old home gave her a small sense of nostalgia and pride. She ignored the dull ache in her heart… Besides, this absurd conversation was killing some sort of time. Selah found herself considering Robert's question until suddenly an idea came to her.

"Come. I'll show you."

She got up from the couch and exited the room, Robert obediently on her heels. She led them to the kitchen, not hesitating to enter. Since Haytham was gone, thankfully the chefs weren't here, leaving the kitchen cold and empty. Selah didn't care as she crossed the room, ignoring Robert's small gasps and amazed gaze as she picked up several kitchen knives from the counter without hesitation. With another order, she led him outside in the backyard.

Thankfully Haytham's home was on the outskirts of New York, having the edges of the wilderness near his house instead of the crammed buildings of the city. Selah very quickly found a good-sized tree only a matter of yards from the back door, just as quickly finding a spot a distance from it. She ordered Robert to stand beside her and stay.

The Assassin then balanced one of the knives in her hand, raising it by her ear. Already her instincts were kicking in from hours of training. The girl locked onto her target with her gaze alone and slightly swung her arm. Selah then rapidly extended her arm in a blink of an eye, releasing the knife at the final moment. Almost immediately there was a satisfying _thunk _as the blade impeded in the center of the trunk with frightening precision. Selah couldn't help but grin in accomplishment as Robert gasped.

"_Wow_!"

Selah smirked again and couldn't stop herself from continuing. She tossed a few more knives, this time using less formal forms. She even tossed one by holding it by its blade before tossing it, only for it to still impede itself into the bark. Although it was nothing impressive to another fighter, Robert watched with utmost amazement.

"Oh! Can I try?" he practically cheered.

Selah actually thought of giving in to his request, even twitching her arm to hand him one. After all, she had started her training when she was younger than him, even practicing swordplay since she was eight. Hell, the first time she time held a knife was when she was _six_. But the Assassin quickly stopped herself, not being _that _ignorant. He was another's child, meaning she had no authority to be making decisions for him. More importantly, he obviously had no experience with weapons or fighting. It would be unwise to hand him one and expect him to know what he was doing. So to spare herself a headache, Selah made the decision based on his lack of experience than his age.

"No, sorry," she apologized.

Selah felt a pang in her heart when Robert's face fell in disappointment. She opened her mouth to explain.

"_SELAH_!"

Selah jumped at the harsh yell, snapping her head towards the back door. She was greeted by Ann, but maid looked nothing like her usual self. Her face was beat-red and her eyebrows were furrowed over her narrowed eyes. Her thin-pressed lips were tugged downward in a disapproving frown. Selah's stomach fell when she realized the usual sweet-hearted servant was furious. Selah had never even seen her upset, never mind imagining she could be this angry.

But the teenager was quickly realizing how bad this must have looked. Several knives stolen from the kitchen counter impeded into the bark of a tree. A few more clutched in Selah's hand. And another held out to a young Robert, who just happened to have a hand raised as if to grab it. Soon all of organs in Selah's body joined her stomach, along with any color in her face. And how Ann's wild glare was pointed at her just showed how much she was proven correct.

Finally panic set in. The teenager spun around, sputtering for words. "I-it-it's not what you think!"

"I will not hear it!" Ann yelled. "Back inside! _Now_!"

Selah tried to gulp but couldn't as she stiffly crossed the yard. Her insides felt like jelly. Robert's deafening silence suggested he wasn't very dissimilar.

It only added to Selah's misery when Haytham and Pitcairn returned later that evening, true to their word. Immediately Pitcairn scooped up his child with a greeting while Haytham went to remove his coat and hat. However Ann was waiting in the foyer, hands crossed in front of her and eyes still stone-like in annoyance.

"Master Kenway," she called.

Haytham looked up.

"May I speak to you in private for a moment?"

Selah flew up the stairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Someone's in trouble! Someone's in trouble!<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

"Selah, may I speak you in my office for a moment?"

Selah cringed while her insides melted. He even used the same words as Ann. Selah looked up from her book (_The Sins of the Borgia)_ to see Haytham standing in the doorway.

_What happens if I say no? _her teenage side wondered. However Selah immediately shoved it away when she noticed Haytham's gaze told he would not take such as an answer. Gulping, the teenager set down her read and joined him outside. She couldn't help but glanced at the front door, which right now looked like the Door of Freedom itself, but sensing that Haytham waiting for her said that was not possible. She obediently followed the Grandmaster to his study, unable to stop shuffling her feet. Her gaze was downcast when he closed the door behind them. She forced herself to look up at him, only to find he had his arms behind him and a strange patient look on his face.

"So I've been told you and Robert had an interesting time yesterday," he started slowly.

Immediately Selah found herself like when she spoke with Ann. "I-it wasn't like that!"

Haytham cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? So my servant _didn't _find you playing with my knives?"

"Well, we were—I mean, _I _was—but not like that. I swear it!"

"Then what was it like?"

Selah gulped, realizing she would have to tell him the truth. "I was just showing Robert some of my training. He never touched any of the knives!"

The panicked girl was surprised by Haytham's next words. "I believe you. I looked at the oak you butchered to find each strike was professional. None of them could've been inflicted by Robert."

Even though his tone was stern, Selah saw the flash in Haytham's eyes. He was impressed. However he still had to address the complaint of his servant and the safety of his co-worker's family. His eyes narrowed.

"Why were you showing him your training?"

"B-because he asked."

Another eyebrow. "He _asked _about you being an Assassin?"

God, his tone was identical to James's. And Selah clearly remembered where that tone led her. She desperately tried to find words to make it not sound so terrible, but horrifying aware lying would do no good.

"N-no, he didn't. He just asked about my former life."

"And that led to butchering a tree?"

Selah shrunk and her voice lowered to a whimper. "Y-yes."

Now Haytham gave a loud sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's my fault, really. Why _wouldn't _a trained Assassin share her skills with an eleven-year-old?"

Selah cringed as his tone suggested his patience was thinning. The girl lowered her gaze and whined in a barely audible voice, "No one was to be hurt…"

Haytham removed his hand. "No, but very well could have."

"I-I wouldn't have let that happen!"

"Then explain to me why Ann told me Robert looked so intrigued."

"Because he never saw combat before!"

"Precisely."

Selah flinched as now the Grandmaster let his tone snap. She realized with horror that he was waiting for her to slip, and she very easily fell into his trap. Now the man's patience was near gone as he stared at her sternly.

"You had no authority to coerce the boy until such an activity—whether he was included or not. How would he know the dangers? What would stop him from trying such a thing by himself?" Haytham narrowed his eyes. "What would happen then?"

The Assassin shrunk as she understood she had set a horrible example—and that what truly annoyed Haytham. What if the child decided to undertake her training, and as inexperienced as he was, what was to stop him from making a mistake and harming himself? It took _months_ for Selah to acquire such skill. Longer still for her to completely master it. Such things never occurred to her at the time. But why would they? She had spent nearly her whole life in fighting. Even then she had attempted to put Robert's safety first. _What did they expect from her?_

"If you were so concerned, then why leave him to me?" she demanded. Now both her Assassin and teenage sides were building their defenses. Apparently so was Haytham's.

"My apologies if I assumed a few hours alone wouldn't lead to so much so much trouble for you," the man drawled.

"I am _not _one of your servants." The teenager made sure that he understood as she did not have the same patience and gifts as the ones in his household. And just thinking about the serfs made her blood boil. "And I will _never _be your slave."

"What gives you the impression that you are?"

Selah's threw her arms up in exasperation. She had been cooped up for weeks and been dealing with frustrations the entire time. Now once again they were reaching their peak. "All I am is _imprisoned_. And then you give me one of your favors and expect me to carry it out correctly."

Haytham crossed his arms over his chest like he was pouting. "I had thought giving you Robert would give you some company and aid in your adjustment. So I was proven wrong."

"Then I'm nothing but a pet to you!" Selah spat.

"You are not. You are not imprisoned, either."

"Ha! The last outsider I spoke to, you _killed_."

Selah glared at him with fury as William's death flashed across her vision. James had been lost in battle. William had been _murdered_. Haytham knew what she was talking about, and his expression went immediately solemn.

"I won't apologize for that," he confessed, though his voice was monotone. "He was to die."

"Nor do I expect you to," Selah snarled. "You are all murderers."

"We didn't kill you."

"And we both know why."

Haytham sighed through a frustrated growl. "Why is it every time we have a disagreement you must propose this subject?"

"Because it's true."

"Because you're stubborn."

Selah defiantly raised her chin. "What if I am?"

"Gods, child."

The teenager felt a small surge of victory when Haytham rolled his eyes and actually had to turn away to regain his composure. After another sigh after a few moments, he turned back.

"You've yet to excuse your behavior," he decided on. Apparently he had gone tired of their war of ideologies.

Selah had heard that phrase before.

"Stop it!" she cried.

"Stop what?"

"You are not James! Stop it!"

Haytham blinked in surprise while Selah froze as her registered her own outburst. She had let her emotions get the best of her again. For almost half the conversation instead of Haytham, Selah saw James scolding her. Because of it she had steadily lost control of her sanity, causing her frustration to reach its peak. Now she was going mad.

"…What?" Haytham's whisper interrupted.

Now she had regained control of her senses, Selah started and looked towards the floor. She hated herself. How she kept having her moods flip back and forth and how easy it was to change them. How easily weak and timid she acted and how pitiful it must have looked. Realizing what she had done, the girl's voice went to a pathetic whimper as she tried to correct herself, but she did very poorly.

"I mean… you are not my father…"

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Pitiful. If Haytham owned pity towards her, he didn't show it as he wore a somber mask. Maybe it wasn't a mask as he looked away.

"No, I'm not," he confirmed. Selah felt like he was referencing more of James than the father comment, but it mattered little. She knew he believed they were one and the same to her. "And I had no right to propose as such. I am truly sorry…" He made a point by a taking a step away from her.

That was twice he apologized for her loss. Selah could tell by his tone it was not something he was used to. The Assassin couldn't help but wonder why. Why he pitied her so much. She called herself a fool the moment she remembered. His father. He had lost a father, as well. He possibly had suffered the same pain as her. So then it wasn't pity. It was empathy. He had even confessed that.

Building on that, Selah thought for a moment how he gone through it without going mad, as she had been. Maybe he had. Maybe he still is. She wondered who had helped him with that madness, only to recall the name of Reginald Birch. But he had only betrayed Haytham in the end. The man Haytham trusted with his life was the very one who called the death of his father, shattering his young life. Now the girl remembered Haytham's kindness to her without the intention of repeating the process. And how she had rejected him each time. How he offered his home to her only for her to repay with her rudeness in his own household.

She even remembered she had planned to attempt to be more tolerable of him, and was just now realizing how miserably failing she was. Yet despite her behavior Haytham remained patient and never scolded her until now. Selah tried to find ways to continue the argument to justify her actions, but was finding very little. She still didn't like Haytham; but that was no excuse to ignore all her had done for her.

Selah swallowed. "No, Haytham, you—" She couldn't stop from stuttering. "You've been very kind to me. And I've done very little to repay you. I… I meant no disrespect."

She looked at the floor as Haytham stared at her quizzically. However the young Assassin could feel the surprise pouring from him in waves. After several long moments, the Templar snapped out of his gaze with an amused snort.

"Then we have both are fools," he commented. Selah was silent as she continued her vigil, but it was interrupted when Haytham's soft fingers appeared under her chin. He lifted her gaze to look at him as his voice dropped to the softest tone. "You have never disrespected me, Selah. How you should feel of us is natural. I simply wanted you to understand the environment you are in is the not the same as you were before."

"I know…" Haytham removed his hand from her as she continued. "And I didn't mean any harm with Robert."

"Of course you didn't," Haytham commented matter-of-factly, re-crossing his arms. "And I spoke true when I said it was partly my fault. You _are _a trained Assassin. Yet, your set of skills has been rather neglected. You are an apprentice, no?"

Selah nodded, her heart aching in agreement that her training was cut short.

"And you've yet to uphold your side of your agreement of our deal."

Now the teenager cringed as she remembered how she came to his home in the first place.

"So then we have to remedy both problems, don't we?" Haytham continued.

Selah nodded and regretted asking, "What do you propose?"

"_I'll_ take up your training. You need to be reacquainted and I'm sure it'll be a good pastime for you."

Naturally the Assassin felt a rush of energy at the thought of the possibly of an active schedule again. It had only been a few weeks and she already felt her ripped muscles loosening. If she hadn't skipped the occasional meal to avoid Templars, she was sure she would have a thicker layer of fat. Still, she was anxious with the idea she would train directly under the Grandmaster. There was the strong possibility that their versions of training contrasted greatly. Selah couldn't help it.

"What sort of training?" she questioned.

"Hmm. We'll continue your swordplay. Although you are inexperienced, you do possess a fair talent."

Selah felt only minor warmth at the praise. Once again she was anxious. Although it was obvious Haytham would hold himself back, he had made it clear just how wide the gap was between them. His training would not be easy. But, it sounded like a pleasing start, and so far he hadn't suggested any teaching of Templar philosophy. It was best to keep it that way.

"That sounds fair," Selah agreed.

Haytham nodded in approval, but his look of accomplishment quickly faded. "But your little act still caused a mess. Fixing it is your responsibility."

Whatever excitement Selah had was shot.

"I want you to apologize to Ann and Mr. Pitcairn. And to remind Robert of sense."

The teenager naturally cringed. None of those options sounded appealing. She disliked that Haytham had remembered their original argument so quickly and had no intention of letting it go. Apparently the man wasn't one to sway easily. But he didn't become Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite for being passive. The teenager still tried.

"Err, do I have to?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Logically Selah approached Ann first, and her discussion was similar to Haytham's. Selah spent the better half of the conversation trying to explain herself and cautiously asking for forgiveness. She ended up continuing what she had done with Robert: explaining that she had been raised in the frontier, using methods of survival that were uncommon in the city. Once again she was telling the truth; just leaving out a few "important" details. Ann was unable to be cold, only first speaking with her in an annoyed tone. However as Selah explained, she slowly started to soften, becoming somewhat sympathetic when she was catching on what kind of grim upbringing the teenager had. She had no idea…<p>

Finally Ann accepted her apology and they agreed to leave the incident behind. However once again Haytham didn't make things easy for her, not forgetting her coerced promise and quickly sending her to Pitcairn. While the discussion with Ann had been unnerving, her discussion with the British captain was just awkward and uncomfortable. The fact he was a high-ranking Templar was barely a part of it. The Assassins lived in a world of sin; confessing one's crimes was unheard of to them. So trying to explain what happened and seek mercy was challenging for the young apprentice.

But to her surprise, the man was patient and calm the entire time, only acting somewhat surprised and the faintest trace of annoyance appeared. He understood immediately, and more to her shock, only laughed at her predicament.

"Haytham's just trying to humble you, you know," he chuckled.

Selah only blinked in confusion, feeling too stressed to understand what he meant. It wasn't later she figured it out. Haytham wasn't trying to humiliate or punish her. Nor was he truly that angry. The teenager remembered that he briefly mentioned of trying to get her to adjust. So that was this was then. To prove to other souls that she was just a humble young girl and not some cold, emotionless killer. Maybe he was trying to show that to herself.

However she couldn't think of it for too long before she had to speak with Robert. If confessing to Pitcairn of sin was hard, having a seasoned warrior tell a child to limit combat was near impossible. But his reply was more surprising than his father's.

"I know that," the young boy confessed, although his voice was timid and low as always.

Selah just blinked and said nothing, urging the boy to continue.

"I wasn't planning to attempt anything. I-I know you're different. I don't know how, but you are. I won't be able to do what you do, but I still admire it. Admire you, I mean."

Immediately the boy blushed and looked away, just causing Selah to continue her stare. Finally she jolted herself out of it and forced herself to say words.

"I still want to get to know you, Robert. May we be friends?"

Robert immediately lit up at the idea, finally looking back to her and nodding eagerly. Selah allowed them to have a friendly embrace, immediately removing her uncomfortable burden from her shoulders.

Saying her farewells to the Pitcairn family, she escaped and met Haytham outside, who was leaning against the carriage with his arms folded in patience.

"Fixed?" he asked.

"Fixed."

The Grandmaster gave an approving nod, even patting a hand on her back. For the first time Selah didn't flinch.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry if the chapter seems a bit off, I had a little difficultly with it even though it's supposed to be a climaticturning point chapter. But I'm happy now that now Haytham and Selah will finally get along better.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Finally this chapter is longer. Warning: historical figures and familiar faces inbound.**

* * *

><p>Selah waited patiently from the top of the stairs as she listened to Charles Lee and another Templar—Hugh Jackson—shuffle out of Haytham's home. They bid their thanks and farewells before they closed the door and disappeared into the night. Haytham took their place.<p>

"You can come down know, Selah," he called.

Selah obeyed as she traveled down the staircase. Haytham watched her approach.

"You can't keep hiding forever, you know," he reminded.

"Yes I can," Selah replied, still unable to rein her spark.

Haytham hummed. "We'll see about that." He turned around and headed for his study. "Come along."

Selah obeyed, following on his heels. She exchanged a smile with Ann before she ducked in the Grandmaster's office. She paused in the center of the room while Haytham ducked behind his desk, fishing through his drawer.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he began. "I'm not rewarding you for anything."

"Yes..." Selah drawled, wondering if she should be confused or not. Her greed's eagle eye then immediately noticed a small purse of change in Haytham's hand.

"I will be preoccupied for the next few days, you I won't have time to train you," the Templar explained. He was already noticing Selah's curious gaze. "To make up for it, I'll allow you visit town tomorrow. You'll be free of escort."

Automatically the Assassin's eyebrows went up. She had _never _been allowed to leave the grounds unattended, always being escorted by Haytham. If he happened to be unavailable, she would be given to one of the servants or even a Templar recruit. Now hearing that wouldn't be the case immediately uplifted her spirits. Selah caught the purse expertly with her palms when Haytham tossed it to her.

"You may do whatever you wish," he allowed, "only that you don't exceed what I have given you. And I only ask you bring Giles as your driver."

"Fair enough."

Haytham nodded and settled in his chair. "A reminder that winter will be setting in soon. I advise you find yourself a coat while you're out."

Selah nodded. He waved her permission to leave, to which she once again complied. She smiled at the news she was given, causing her to pause by the door.

"Thank you, Haytham."

* * *

><p>Selah gave a large inhale of fresh air as she leaped out of the carriage. The sun was shining brilliantly as the streets of New York were crammed with the afternoon crowd. Men and women went on their daily business, not minding as children ran between their legs. Save for the orphans pranking on a local businessman. Selah chuckled at them, remembering her and the other young apprentices weren't much different. The Assassin didn't allow her positive mood to be ruined. She turned as the carriage driver addressed her.<p>

"Is there anywhere you want me to escort you, miss?" Giles asked dutifully.

Selah just smiled at him. "No, thank you. I can take it from here. I'll find you later."

Giles blinked in surprise, most likely not being used to not being given direct orders. But he was a wise man, so he gave a slight smirk and nodded. "As you wish, ma'am."

He turned away, leaving Selah to do what she pleased. At first she thought of joining the crowds or visiting the market that was popular this time of day, but then saw a convenient pile of cargo pushed against a nearby wall of a building. She grinned in delight. The Assassin crossed the distance in just a few leaps before bounding of the supplies to grip the frame of a window. She used its minimal leverage to haul herself onto the roof.

Immediately the wind picked up, sending her long hair flailing around her. Selah laughed, not knowing the last time she relished the sensation. This was even better than escaping from the fort. The open world seemed to welcome her, the weather beaming and whistling with joy. Naturally she continued to freerun across the city, soaring building to building and scaling any wall that happened to be in her way. Not once did her feet touch the accursed ground. She felt like a bird, flying about after being released from her cage to see just how much she had missed and just how capable she was.

Her flight finally ended when she leaped over the annex of a building only to crash feet-first into a redcoat sentry. The poor man let out a cry of both surprise and pain as he crashed onto the hard pavement of the roof. Selah skipped away from him, wincing at her mistake. The soldier tried scramble to his feet but he was obviously disoriented. He gave Selah the briefest of glances before the Assassin piped, "sorry," and retreated into the streets below.

"Oi!"

Automatically a stampede of pounding boots sounded behind her as a squad of soldiers gave chase. Selah only chuckled. There wasn't an Assassin that didn't have to go through this during the war. Escaping from excitable soldiers had become part of the business by now. Although the soldiers had more eyes, the teenager was far faster. She humored them for several streets and back alleyways before she ducked into the open door a shack. The Assassin stilled the door and became motionless just as the redcoats came around the corner, still pounding. Selah waited patiently as they charged right past her and continued on until their footfall faded. The girl slipped out of her hiding spot and spared a wave towards their direction before turning around slipping away.

She came to a wide street, panting lightly from her sprint. She looked around, finding a place she could blend into. It would be best to lay low for a little while. Just until the soldiers became bored, which wouldn't be very long. The teenager's gaze spotted a general store across the street. Deciding it looked safe enough, Selah crossed over to it.

Now that she moved at a comfortable pace and a thin layer of sweat covered her skin, Selah gave a small shiver. It _was _cold. Perhaps taking Haytham's suggestion wouldn't be a bad idea. Nonetheless the teenager enjoyed the warmth of the store as she entered with a bell ringing. Immediately the scent of leather, clay, and musk greeted her. She was intrigued to find the store was filled small shelves of books and pottery, as well as several common inventions. But she was surprised to find a few trinkets she never seen before. Including one pushed against the wall.

The contraption was raised on four skinny legs, like a side table would be. However its surface was anything but. Instead of a flat countertop was an open case, the top raised to press against the wall. What was inside puzzled Selah even more. First it looked like it wall one piece, a round object that was wide one side and stretched the length of the table to be small on the opposite side. But on closer inspection, the rounded piece was instead made of dozens glass bowls of decreasing size. The largest was on the left, with a smaller bowl halfway within it and so on and so on. Selah gapped at the strange invention, trying to figure out what to make of it.

"I call it an armonica."

Selah jumped at the voice, thinking she was alone. She spun around to see a man in the center of the store, in his late fifties at least. He had almost unkempt gray hair that came to his shoulders, but he brushed it back in an attempt to be civilized. He had deep brown eyes as well, magnified by spectacles with flimsy wire resting on his nose. He wore a regal burgundy coat that barely fit his plump physique. He gave a friendly, charming smile at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized humbly. He had a nasally voice, that almost sounded misleading but Selah could hear the traces of intelligence in it. She couldn't help but smile back.

"No, it's alright," she replied. "I hope I didn't intrude."

"Not at all." The man extended a hand and closed the distance between them in just a few quick strides. "Benjamin Franklin, a pleasure to meet you."

Selah continued her smile. Usually she should be quiet, especially to a stranger as an Assassin, but the man's charm was amusing. He seemed friendly enough. She accepted his hand.

"Selah," she introduced.

"Ah, a beautiful name," Benjamin praised.

Selah gestured to the contraption, what she remembered the man had called an armonica. "Beautiful machine."

"Oh, you like it? It's one of my favorites actually." Selah looked at him with interest as he positioned near it, gesturing towards it himself. "I got the idea from wine glasses, in fact. I have always enjoyed the sound made by them; however they are so hard to tune correctly filling them with water. So I produced this instrument. I spin the bowls using this here—" He pointed to large metal wheel on the table's end. "—and wet the brim of the bowls with water. The result should please any ears."

"Fascinating…"

"Indeed. Will you like me to show you how it works?"

Selah nodded. Immediately Benjamin's head bobbed in excitement as he moved to the wheel. After a few cranks, the bowls started spinning at a dizzying pace. The man then opened the armonica's drawer to reveal a bowl of water, dunking his fingertips in the liquid. He then gently brushed the brims of few of the bowls like he would a piano. Immediately a musical ring filled the air. Benjamin was right; it did sound just like tuning wine glasses. But how he expertly skipped around the span of the instrument also like a piano filled the air with song. It was so sharp and so pure it sounded like music of the angels of heaven themselves.

Selah listened in awe, letting herself be lost in a sea of the harmony as Benjamin went on for over a minute. Finally he tentatively pulled away, a soft ring humming through the air as he did so. The armonica slowly spun to a halt.

"Beautiful…" Selah breathed, in more amazement that she ever been. She quickly pulled herself out of it, not wanting to be in strange daze in front of a stranger. "So then you're a musician?"

"I am many things," Benjamin replied proudly. "I fancy myself with all sorts of activities. I like to make a hobby with music, but my true passion is the field of science. And if both happen to dull me, I find myself a diplomat."

Selah raised her eyebrows. "You must be a busy man."

"Indeed."

"So do you continue to build inventions?"

"Of course. I'm always willing to attempt new prototypes. I believe my last one went to… erm… yes, a Mr. Cormac."

That got Selah's attention. Her eyes went as wide as the armonica's large wheel. Shay?!

"C-Cormac?" she finally stuttered.

"Yes," Benjamin confirmed happily, oblivious to her state. "Er, what was his first name? Excuse my memory. Um, Patrick, perhaps?"

"Not Shay?" How many Cormacs were there?

"Oh, yes! Shay Patrick Cormac! That was his name! Yes, yes, I gave him my grenade launcher."

"You what?"

"Yes, I gave it to him when I was requested to create the prototype for his associates. Along with an efficient toxin that proved quite effective. A Miss Hope was the one to request for it, I believe."

Selah recognized that name. Hope Jensen. She was one of the highest members of the Brotherhood, a Master Assassin skilled in the arts of stealth and assassination. Almost every gang that served the Order answered to her. But a grenade launcher? What did that have to do with Hope's specialty? And how in the world did Shay get his hands on it before the Assassins? Selah was interrupted from her questions as Benjamin continued on with his musings.

"And from what he tells me, it serves him well."

Suddenly Selah was absorbing what the man was really saying. She couldn't keep the shock and surprise from her voice. "So you talked to Shay?"

Hearing of the Irishman from this man of all people was the last thing she would have expected. Perhaps none at all.

"Indeed."

Suddenly a surge of raw curiosity thawed her frozen mind. She leaned towards the scientist. "What was he like?" she pressed.

"A young fellow," Benjamin confessed. "But quite courteous, though. He seemed eager to please."

Selah blinked. She certainly wasn't expecting that. And eager to please? Shay? The teenager thought it was absurd. Then again, if you were hell-bent on destroying your entire former Brotherhood…

"Does something interest you?" Benjamin questioned gently as he finally noticed Selah's perplexed daze.

The girl snapped herself out of it. "Erm, just curious of your inventions, that's all. Do you have another?"

"Another what?"

"Grenade launcher. Like that one you gave Sh—Mr. Cormac."

"No, sorry. Honestly I considered making another since it sufficed so well, but Mr. Cormac requested me not to do so."

He would do that. Selah tried not to look defeated. If it was such a sufficient weapon, the Assassin wouldn't mind seeing—possibly even using—one herself. Then again, if it was Cormac's, it meant it was used to kill probably dozens of her brothers and sisters. And it wasn't like she was in an environment where it could be available to her… Even though she dismissed the idea, Benjamin still saw her disappointed look.

"I can offer you something else, if you like," he offered warmly.

Selah blinked out of her doze. She wondered if the man meant another "prototype" or a simple service, but decided once again a weapon was of little value to her. Instead she thought of another idea she thought of when she first entered the store.

"Do you have any books I can rent?" she asked politely.

Immediately Benjamin's face lit up. "Ah, I think I have one you will enjoy." Walking in his unnatural speed, the old man crossed the small store and plucked a volume out of a shelf. He glanced at the cover as Selah calmly followed. "This one should do. _Poor Richard's Almanack." _He handed the almanac to his guest. "It was written by a Richard Saunders." The man gave a quizzical smirk. "He is one of my favorite authors, actually."

"Thank you. How much does it cost?"

Benjamin didn't hesitate to shake his head and hands. "No, no. A beautiful young woman shouldn't have to pay for such things. Take it as a gift."

Selah smiled, even though she didn't know if she should be flattered or offended. She decided flattery as she nodded in gratefulness. "Thank you so kindly, sir."

Benjamin Franklin shook his head again. "It is of no inconvenience."

Seeing no other reason to stay, Selah smiled again and took a step towards the door. "I must be leaving now. I thank you again for you hospitality, Mr. Franklin."

Now the scientist was bobbing his chin. "Come by any time. I will be here if you happen to wish for a visit."

Selah gave a nod and exited the store.

* * *

><p>True the teenager's vow, the next store she visited was a tailor. Selah actually almost missed it; she didn't notice it was tailor until she happened to peer through the window. Seeing several robes and dresses hung to the side and even an entire wall made of shelves for rolls of colored cloth, Selah decided to enter. This time unlike Franklin's general store, a woman immediately greeted her.<p>

She wore a modest yellow dress with a large apron covering her lap. A checkered red shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, tied at the base of her neck. She had sharp dark brown eyes with a stern features, her long chocolate brown hair tied into a bun.

"May I help you, dear?" she asked politely, although her voice wasn't as near as soft as Ann's.

"Yes, thank you," Selah replied. She hesitated for a brief moment, not really used to being a direct costumer. Usually James handled affairs for her. Not really knowing what to say, she blurted, "I was seeing if I could get a coat tailored here."

"Well, I am a seamstress, so I hope you can get one here," the woman replied in a sarcastic tone. She looked at Selah's attire. "And it looks like you already got yourself one."

Selah wondered if this woman could be described as rude. However the Assassin saw no disdain from her and her amused gleam showed she was teasing. Selah still felt timid, wishing James was here. He always got along with others.

"I need one for winter," the teenager stammered.

The woman gave a nod. "Ah, I think I can do that." She crossed to the shelves of colors, glazing over them. "What color would you like, dear?"

"Um." Selah didn't really think about that. She glanced down at her current coat and got an idea. She looked back to the seamstress, plucking her arm. "Can you do a darker shade of this?"

"I believe I can." The woman plucked a roll out of the shelf and carried it back to her. "Should this suffice?"

Like Selah requested, the color was significantly darker. While Selah's current coat was only a light brown of earth, the one in the woman's hands was one of the richest chocolates. Nonetheless, the teenager could see it complimenting her current outfit well, so she nodded her approval. The woman nodded back and shifted the roll in her hands.

"So you have a name, lass?" she asked.

"Selah."

"Name's Ellen. A pleasure." The woman, Ellen, strutted across the store. "Come over here, Selah, I need to measure you in order for it to fit."

Selah obeyed, following the seamstress to a back room and followed her instruction to stand on a small box. She felt a little silly when she had to outstretch her arms like one of the dummies from the Assassin training grounds. Ellen meanwhile snatched a bundle of measuring tape and began her work.

"So how long do you want the tail?" she asked, requesting how long the customer wanted her coat.

Selah considered it for a moment. Her current coat only came to her knees. It felt a little strange, used to her Assassin robes that came to her heels. She had even wondered if she should lengthen it. Instead she had another idea to try it on her new one.

"Can you have it end at the heel?" the girl requested. "Without me stepping on it?"

Ellen nodded. "I think I can do that."

"And one other thing."

The seamstress glanced up at her curiously.

Selah reached behind her and pulled up the collar of her tan undershirt. She couldn't help but make her voice a little meeker than she intended. "Could… you attached a hood to this?"

It wasn't surprising the woman raised an eyebrow. "A hood?"

Selah's cheeks burned and she hoped they weren't red as she nodded. She knew the style wasn't common in the colonies, especially among the people. But it was part of an Assassin's identity, more so than their hidden blades or insignia. Selah had a hidden desire to have hers returned to her. Even if she was with the Templars now, she could have the familiar weight remind her who she truly was. And Haytham didn't have to know. It was why she would have it attached to the undershirt. It could discreetly hide under the thick padding of her coat, making anyone who was unaware of its existence none the wiser. Only the assurance that it was there was enough for Selah.

Ellen turned away, both amused and skeptical at the same time. Nonetheless, she chuckled, "I can give it a go." She placed her measuring tape down and meddled with some of her supplies. The woman raised her voice to a call. "Maria! Can you come here for a moment?"

Immediately a young girl materialized by the door. The girl couldn't have been much older than Robert, being at least twelve years of age. Selah blinked when realizing she was a spitting image of Ellen, only her young face was softer and still gleaming.

"Yes, Mother?" the girl, Maria, said.

"Could you grab my roll of silk from the back for me?"

The girl nodded obediently and disappeared as quickly as she appeared. Selah couldn't help but smirk at her energy. What she would do to be back in those days…

"So when do want it completed?" Ellen's voice interrupted.

Selah blinked from her nostalgic state. "Erm, as soon as possible, if you may."

Ellen raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless said, "That shouldn't be too difficult. I have no other projects at the moment."

"Really? I thought in this part of town you would be quite popular."

Selah didn't miss the clenching in Ellen's jaw as she swallowed. "Well… business has just been slow, lately."

The teenager stared at her in confusion for a moment, but nonetheless went still as Ellen made a few more measurements. Suddenly Maria appeared by the door again.

"Mother, I can't find it," the girl reported.

"What? Are you sure?" Ellen replied, sounding surprised. "Did you look on my work table?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can look again if you like."

The mother shook her head, even though there was still confusion in her eyes. "No, that's fine. Thank you, dear. I'll have to get some more tomorrow."

Maria disappeared again, leaving Selah to analyze the seamstress. The Assassin was terrible at reading expressions, could she could see the woman's confusion be replaced by annoyance. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pursed, as well as her muscles were tense as she moved stiffly.

"Is something wrong?" Selah pressed.

Immediately Ellen attempted to mask her state by attempted to loosen her body. "Oh, fine. Just thinking that's all." The woman turned away, leaving an uncertain pause. The seamstress spoke up quickly though to fill it. "Is there anything else you require, lass?"

"No, thank you."

"Alright, then. I'll let you know I don't rush my work. You should have your coat in three to five days."

Selah nodded. "Alright, thank you."

"And how would you like to do for payment?"

The teenager considered reaching for her purse to pay the seamstress then and there. Suddenly she had a mischievous idea. Haytham had given her freedom, but still attempted to restrain her with limitations. But Selah would not be so easily fooled, and she had plenty of tricks of her own.

The Assassins had unlimited amount of resources and contacts, allowing them to reach every aspect of the colonies. That included the Templar finances. Although the Assassins couldn't find much use attacking from that angle, Selah still remembered what she had learned.

"Send the bill to Silver Tavern," the Assassin ordered. "It'll be taken care of for you."

Selah remembered that the tavern masqueraded as a Templar outpost, mostly used to usher spies and bankers. No doubt a bill sent in that direction—even from a local seamstress—would make its way to Haytham. And no doubt the Grandmaster would learn that he wasn't the only sly and manipulative one.

"I'll come by next week to pick up the coat," Selah continued, keeping her voice level despite her amused thoughts.

Ellen nodded and extended a hand. "Sounds about right. A pleasure doing business with you."

Selah went to accept it, but then noticed something.

The Assassin ignored the woman's sharp gasp as she snatched her wrist and peeled back her sleeve. Instead of pale skin was a dark coloration. A deep violet wrapped around her entire wrist with sickly green-brown lining around it. Selah could feel the subtle tremble in Ellen as the teenager narrowed her eyes in confusion and suspicion. Finally Ellen quickly ripped her arm away and pulled down her sleeve to hide the disturbing bruise. Selah was still able to question her.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Ellen replied. Her tone was sharp and defensive. "Just fell down the stairs, that's all."

Selah narrowed her eyes, but Ellen didn't appreciate it.

"I'll ask that you leave now," the woman demanded.

Even though the Assassin's stomach was still churning, she realized she had no choice. Selah dipped her head and slunk away.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay, long shopping sprees! I hope that wasn't terribly boring, but every chapter does have a purpose, so this one will come into play. I bet many of you have already guessed what it is.<strong>

**Benjamin Franklin's appearance was actually impromptu. I wanted to add something to this chapter and I missed Shay, so I decided to have him mentioned. I plan to do so until his return, as he ****_is _****a main character. But he will come back soon. I hope it wasn't a tease, but I liked what they did with Benjamin in the game and I found him a fascinating figure. He was a lot of fun to write. By the way, whoever guesses who the other (minor) historical figure is in this chapter gets a cookie (hint: if you want to cheat, look on the wiki).**

**Featured Inventions: armonica (google/youtube it, I can see why it was Franklin's favorite), bifocals (yeah I didn't bother with accuracy of appearance), Shay's grenade launcher (go play ****_Rogue_****)**


	14. Chapter 14

Selah put down her new read, chuckling softly. She looked back to check the author. Richard Saunders. The girl chuckled again. She had read dozens upon dozens of books in her life. Never once have she heard of a Richard Saunders. She doubted he even existed. It was the writing style that revealed it. Instead hearing the voice of "Poor Richard," she heard Benjamin's nasally voice. He was most certainly the author. Saunders was just a pen name.

The teenager placed the book down, already near completion. She just may have to go back and request Franklin for another. Over a week had gone by since she visited town. Haytham was pleased to hear her trip was productive and she had enjoyed herself. True to his word, though, he remained locked in his study for the next couple days with paperwork with Templar messengers constantly running back and forth. However the moment he was finally finished, he immediately took her back to Fort George to uphold his vow of training her. As she expected, it wasn't easy.

The first few matches were simply to test the waters, each not even using real strikes. The matches were only to get accustomed to re-using a sword and the other's unique fighting style. However, soon after Haytham had her switch back and forth between offensive and defensive. He would have her take the offensive, only for her to be unable to break through his defenses. The Assassin would then have to defend herself, only for Haytham to quickly gain the upper hand. Selah refused to think about the contests that included both…

Finally after multiple matches, Haytham began to teach her swordplay stroke by stroke. He taught her new strikes, parries, and tactics. Once she was acquainted, he would have her use her new skill in the next match. Ever so slowly, she began to last longer against the experienced Grandmaster.

Now they had returned home, Selah was curious if they would be headed back to the fort. Deciding to investigate, she journeyed downstairs. The girl wasn't surprised to find Haytham still in his study despite the lateness of the hour. He was hunched over his desk, which was for once covered in scattered documents. The Templar clutched one in his hand, reading it carefully. He only had one candle for light.

Eyeing the parchment, Selah saw it seemed to be made of slightly different material. She even saw an envelope by Haytham's elbow. Apparently her conversation with Franklin was still on her mind, because she blurted, "Is that from Shay?"

Immediately the man glanced up from his read.

Meanwhile the Assassin bit her tongue. Where did that come from?

However Haytham only looked at her for a moment before admitting, "Yes, it is. He is just keeping me informed of things." He placed the parchment aside. "It seems things are slow going."

Naturally Selah wondered for a moment what was in the letter and what "slow-going" meant, but quickly decided she didn't want to know. Instead of looking at her, the Grandmaster glanced at another document. Selah took notice of his furrowed eyebrows.

"What is the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing that concerns you," Haytham retorted.

"I am staying on your manor, mind you, and am I not to be a Templar?"

Haytham glanced up at her, not missing her cringe at her own statement. However he played along with the attempted technicality.

"Well, I suppose you are," he sighed. The man kept his gaze on his papers. "It appears I find myself in a predicament. There is business I need to tend in New York—however, I've been requested to Fort Division to receive some information."

Selah's knowledge quickly placed the fort on the outskirts of New York City. She spoke up with the most practical solution, "Why not just have a messenger deliver it to you?"

Haytham sighed through his nose. "I'm afraid it's 'sensitive' information and Captain Pitcairn saw it safer for me to see it personally."

"I can get for you."

Selah clipped her mouth shut, surprised at her own words. Haytham was interested as well, glancing up at her with raised eyebrows. She certainly hadn't offered anything like that before. Besides it was a strange thing to suggest. An Assassin requesting to transport valuable Templar information to the Grandmaster himself. His quizzical stare confirmed of his suspicions.

"I won't look, I promise," Selah assured. "And I'll only pick it up and take it straight here. No one must know."

Haytham continued to stare at her, still skeptical. Selah knew even if one removed the fact she was an Assassin, the Grandmaster sending a teenaged girl in his place would certainly raise eyebrows. But, it would be a good way to introduce her to the inner workings of the Templars. A simple courier mission would be a good way to start that. A special courier mission, but one nonetheless.

The Grandmaster sighed again. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a fresh parchment and bowl of ink, already beginning to scribble. "Very well. I'll send a letter baring my seal with you to prove your legitimacy. If you are still questioned, inform the person they are to answer to me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Selah replied. The girl could tell a Templar wouldn't want to answer him. She shouldn't have any problems.

Somehow already writing his approval, Haytham handed the letter to her. Selah took it gingerly. She listened on as the man's expression went serious.

"I'm placing a great deal of trust in you, Selah," he told her. "Use it well."

Selah wanted to quip, but looking into his stone eyes, she said instead, "I understand, Grandmaster. You can place your faith in me."

Automatically Haytham's shoulders relaxed and his face softened. "Fair enough. You leave in morning. I bid you good night."

He waved her away, allowing the young Assassin to take her leave. However she paused at the door for a moment as she remembered something. "Oh, by the way, I plan to visit that seamstress to pick up my coat tomorrow. It shouldn't take long."

Haytham nodded approvingly, but he was already absorbed back into his paperwork. Or so he seemed. "Just make sure I don't receive any strange bills I didn't approve of."

Selah grinned mischievously, amused he had learned of her folly. He said it in an annoyed tone, but yet still didn't seem truly angry. Nevertheless the teenager affirmed his request and left the room.

* * *

><p>Selah walked to the gates of Fort Division, eyeing the compound cautiously. It couldn't have been more different from Fort George. Inside of great, foreboding stone walls, the fort was surrounded a tall, spiked palisade. Through gaps of the fencing it could be glimpsed that most of the interior structures were made of wood as well. The military encampment pushed against the surrounding woods, looking like it was part of the frontier. But it looked like the entire establishment could be blown away with just a few shelling. However, a broad but shallow moat—perhaps large enough to pass as a small lake-surrounding the fort made up for the lack of defenses.<p>

Selah crossed over to the bridge, ignoring the muddy earth on this part of the island. A dark overcast covered the sky, forewarning the brewing of a winter storm. The teenager was eager to get her errands over with. She walked up to the lone British sentry at the gate. The Assassin paused as he raised his hand.

"Halt! What business do you have here?" he demanded.

Selah lifted Haytham's letter. "Delivery." She decided that response would have fewer questions. Apparently she was wrong as the regular sneered.

"That is no task for a woman. Who sent you?"

Selah disliked the sexist remark. Even though society was ruled by difference of gender, the Assassins tried to demote such ideas. If the male Assassins fought, the female Assassins fought. The teenager decided to uphold such.

"Never you mind," she snapped at the soldier.

The redcoat's sneer turned into one of annoyance. "What was that? Little gurls like you should have respect."

"This one doesn't." Selah passed him, slapping the back of her hand to his chest and pushing him away. Thankfully he was scrawny and wasn't expecting the touch, stumbling away from her. She slipped inside the fort before he could stop her.

Like she expected, the inside of the fort was filled with red like the inside of a lobster cage. Unlike Fort George which was much more complex and active, Fort Division's interior was made of randomly placed cargo and only a few buildings that yet to be completed. Soldiers mulled around, either huddled in groups or isolated from their peers. They cleaned weapons, conversed through muttered and slurred voices, ate half-rotted food, chugged down their drinks—whether it was water or alcohol. Thankfully not many paid attention to her, only a handful sending her curious glances. A younger soldier made the mistake of whistling at her, which caused the Assassin to stop in her heels and send him a heated glare, making the man flinch.

Finally the teenager made her way to the captain's tent, showing her letter to the guards. With a reluctant grumble, the men stepped away to allow her entrance. Without sparing them a glance, Selah entered the tent. According to Haytham, Captain Pitcairn should be the head of this fort. That relieved the girl, assured she was meeting a friendly face that was familiar with her. However the man wasn't Jonathan.

Selah stopped dead as she recognized the Spanish-looking officer from the halls of Fort George. A high-ranking Templar and father of the disrespectful Eleanor—Major Matthew Mallow.

He sat behind a table covered in documents and maps, although Selah could tell none of them have been looked at in a while. Nor had anyone tried to organize them. The multiple misplaced items scattered around the room certainly didn't give it an appeal, either.

As for Major Mallow himself, he was a tall, but lean man. He had well-tanned skin and pitch-dark hair, some of it forming an attached mustache and beard. His sharp black eyes were the same as his daughter's. Instead of wearing the red coat of his associates, he wore a pale cloak over his shoulders. The man was peering at his documents when Selah entered, but immediately looked up at her presence.

Selah's skin crawled as she remembered the Templar girls had boasted he was the man who led the raid against her home. She swallowed the bile in her throat. Maybe he wouldn't know who she was. The teenager's slimmer of hope vanished when the major's eyes narrowed with disdain.

"What are _you _doing here?" he hissed.

Selah didn't appear to be intimidated, although her insides felt like they were melting. Damn, why couldn't she be as solid as she was the guard? The girl realized with reluctance there was a very clear difference between the two. Knowing he was a Templar, Selah decided there was no need of secrecy.

"Haytham sent me," she reported. She handed him the letter. Mallow took it, but only for a split-second before he jerked back in her direction, as if looking at it disgusted him.

"Haytham's sending his servant girls now?"

"I'm not one of his servants."

Mallow snorted. "No, you're not. You shouldn't be here at all, girl."

Selah tried to ignore his harsh tone, but her body shifted slightly on its own accord. She muttered before she could stop herself, "I was expecting Captain Pitcairn."

"The Captain was called away this morning. That's how things work in the military—not that you would know."

Selah rolled her eyes when Mallow looked away for a moment. What did unpredictable military schedules have to do with anything? Although it explained Pitcairn's absence. Haytham would never had sent her if he knew she would encounter Mallow, if he really did destroy her home.

The very thought making her nauseous, she quickly demanded, "The Grandmaster sent me to retrieve something for him."

The major sneered for what seemed the thousandth time. "You're calling him Grandmaster now?"

"Isn't he?"

Mallow made a noise, but he started fishing through his drawers, obviously looking for Haytham's information. The man didn't look at her, but filled the following silence by asking, "So, how is your little board with the Grandmaster?"

"Tolerable."

It was the truth and Selah decided it would be wise not to tell this man too much. Finally after an awkward silence, Major Mallow pulled out a large envelope.

"Here we are," he mumbled before holding it out to her. Selah reached out to take it, but suddenly the commander jerked it back from her touch. The Assassin suppressed narrowing her eyes, knowing he wanted a reaction. The man's eyes, however, did. "And why should I give this to you? After all, you are an Assassin." He huffed. "A puny Assassin, but one nonetheless."

"Because I am boarding with your Grandmaster," Selah replied curtly, still trying to keep her composure.

Mallow shrugged before letting her take it. Immediately the man went back to the work, but spoke up once again. "My daughter tells me of you. So you are taking lessons from Haytham now?"

"…Yes."

"Has he taught you anything useful?"

"That is not really any of your concern."

"I could teach you a few things, if you like, Selah."

How the hell this devil learned her name, the Assassin had no idea, but it sent her skin crawling. The tone of his offer didn't sound suggesting, but it certainly wasn't for politeness.

"No, thank you," she replied quickly. She made her point by turning around toward the entrance. Mallow still continued, though.

"No? I thought you would like that, considering how ill-prepared your kind is. Your Assassins from your little village certainly weren't that well-trained."

Selah's heart stopped. He _was_ the head of the raid. Haytham was the Grandmaster and approved, but it was Major Mallow who organized the footmen. Her back to was the demon, but she still sensed his devilish smile as he noticed her tensing.

"It's a shame, really," he went on. "I thought I only had to burn savage villages aiding French mongrels. Then again, I doubt Assassins are much different from savages."

Now Selah's throat was constricting and bile rose to her mouth. She had to get out of here. "Good day, Major."

She curtly headed towards the entrance.

"Good day, Selah," Mallow purred. "Try to be wary around fires…"

Selah escaped, struggling not to cry.

* * *

><p>The Assassin was happy to escape to the city to distract her thoughts. There was always noise and activity in New York—the stomping and chattering of the crowd, the whinnying of a horse, the barking of a dog or the screeching of a cat. It was a good way mute out her overthinking mind.<p>

Selah knew it was unwise to run personal errands while she was on a "mission," but she knew she still had some time left. And it wasn't like anyone was going to steal it... The teenager subconsciously shifted the letter in place in her coat pocket. It was perfectly secure. Now all she had to do was go to Ellen's—

"Please! Please help me!"

Selah blinked. Was that? The Assassin quickly picked up the pace into a jog, quickly rounding the corner. Like she expected, she found young Maria, Ellen's daughter, standing on the edge of the street, shouting towards the crowd of people. Not even a single person paid her mind. But how the young girl's face was plastered with panic and distraught along with her desperate wails said enough to Selah. Her stomach knotted.

"I'm begging you to help me! Why won't you listen?"

Selah had already made her way over to the young girl. "Maria, what's wrong?"

The child whipped around to face the older teenager, face still wet. The girl was either too panicked or too relieved that someone had finally listened to her to care that Selah was practically a stranger. Maria was already spinning on her heels.

"This way! Mommy and Daddy are fighting!"

Daddy? Selah's stomach went even tighter. Maria was fast for her age, running fast enough that Selah almost had to sprint. It was a good thing they did, because all they had to round the corner to reveal what was wrong.

Ellen was pushed up against the wall of her store, a ragged man pinning her in place. He wore tattered clothing and even from here Selah could see his eyes were bloodshot. The man harshly held Ellen's arms, provoking pained yells from the woman. The seamstress flailed against her captor, sending useless kicks and trying to rip her arms away. Suddenly the bruise Selah witnessed came ripping from the back of her mind. It filled the Assassin with fury. The man had caused them. Ellen's husband.

Selah gritted her teeth and raced past Maria. She was next to the "fighting" couple in seconds. Immediately the Assassin sent a violent kick to the man's kneecap, provoking a startled yell of pain. Like Selah anticipated, his grip on Ellen loosened, allowing the teenager to rip one of his arms away and raise her own knee into his stomach. Ellen's husband gagged and let go of his wife completely.

Still having a hold on the mongrel, Selah dragged him further away from Ellen. She only had a grip on one arm and the man was so unbalanced he was forced to stumble after her. Finally though he planted his heels in place and snapped his head towards her. His face was red along with his wild-looking his eyes. The stench of stale alcohol filled Selah's nostrils, making her gag. Apparently that was enough for the bastard to round on her, his vice grip now on her.

"Bugger off!" he roared.

"Like hell!" Selah retorted.

Flaring his nostrils, the husband tried to throw her down, but Selah was able to cling on to him. She wrapped both hands around his wrist and twisted his arm, provoking a loud yell. He immediately let go, allowing the Assassin to spin his body around, still holding his arm while his back was to her. She then angled her body and planted a powerful kick to the man's ribs. He fell face-first on the ground with a yell.

Selah took a step back, staying out of his range if case he jumped up. However Ellen's husband didn't as he simply tried to recollect himself, only to get as far as lifting his body. With his red eyes and scarlet face, he looked back up at her, looking more beast than human as he growled and bared his rotting teeth. Selah saw the man's fury grow as he realized his attacker was a little girl—and she had defeated him. The tremble in his body told of his humiliation. The Assassin could care less as she took a step forward, towering over him and her own gaze showing her own fury.

"Get out of here," she demanded. "And don't let me see you again."

Another eruption of rage appeared behind the man's eyes. "You'll regret this," he growled in a ragged, savage voice.

Selah only raised her chin defiantly, watching impassively as the pathetic excuse of a husband scrambled to his feet and sprinted down the street, not looking back. It was only when he disappeared in the crowd the teenager finally turned away, headed back towards Ellen.

The woman still stood where she was being held, arms crossed her chest. However Selah noticed she gripped where her husband held her, either trying to comfort the pain or hide her bruises. The seamstress glared at the ground, but Selah couldn't tell it was of fury or wounded pride. She did however catch Maria gripping desperately to her mother's dress, face half-buried in the folds of clothing. Ellen looked up when Selah approached.

"Thank you," she said, but her tone suggested otherwise. "But that wasn't necessary."

"Any worm like that should get what he deserves," Selah retorted. "How long has he been doing this to you?"

"That's not really none of your concern. Besides, I'm used to it now and I can handle myself. Now when Quincent returns he'll just give me twice the thrashing."

Selah narrowed even more. "Why would you stay with such a man?"

Ellen seemed to bristle, telling Selah her mood was from damaged dignity more than anything. Like her husband was humiliated from being beaten, she was embarrassed a young stranger had to come to her aid and learn her secret.

"It's my household and it's my business," the woman snapped. "It's my tailoring that has paid for this place. I'll take his drunken buffoonery than leaving behind what I built."

Her tone suggested she was in no mood of patience or discussion, and she continued her disapproving glare at her "customer." Her arms were now crossed in defiance. Selah was surprised at her reaction. She was upset for the Assassin saving her?!

Selah didn't have time to take it personally, raising her own voice and throwing her arm. "Then just build somewhere else."

"It doesn't work that way," Ellen retorted. "I don't have the luxury to pick up everything and dump it where I please."

"One should always have the freedom to choose."

"Not in this society."

The comment felt like a dagger to Selah's heart. Did she? Selah was so used to the freedom within the Brotherhood, she had forgotten most women did not have such privilege. No, she _didn't _know women were so degraded, to the point of the slaves. They were to be the meek servants of their husbands, "tolerable" of everything, even if that man was lower than a worm. The teenager was coming to realize it was an amazement Ellen was as successful as she was. And with the new laws limiting land, it would be impossible for her to find a new shop, especially in the city. And besides, who would care for a divorced woman as a seamstress?

Selah simply looked down at the ground, not knowing what else to say or do. What was the point of her teachings if she couldn't even use them? They just had her cause more harm than good…

Ellen looked back to her, eyes still in a glare even though she seemed to know she won the argument. "Come on, then. I'll get you your coat; but then I'll have to ask you to leave."

* * *

><p><strong>Life's just not fair, huh? Don't worry, we'll be visiting this subject again. I have plans. Evil plans.<strong>

**Major Mallow is based off the multiplayer character the Commander, or Matthew Davenport. I thought it would make no sense why they would give him that name (for very obvious reasons), so I changed his surname to match his daughter's.**


	15. Chapter 15

At last the first snow came. It came at nightfall, having Selah awaken to a white, glistening wonderland. However, it came at a price when it allowed temperatures to drop dramatically. Almost every fireplace on the Kenway manor was constantly lit and no one was particularly eager to step outside. Even Haytham was reluctant to go to the fort, but it had to be done for the Templar Order and Selah's training. Selah was just glad she had her coat.

It fit perfectly and was a complimented her outfit well. The darker shade mixed with her light jacket. Even Haytham complimented it. Selah didn't fret too much of the style more than the extra warmth it provided her. But the teenager was not at all comfortable with the price of receiving it.

Her encounter with Ellen continued to burn in her mind, even finding places in her nightmares. Leaving a woman at the mercy of a monster left a sickening taste in her mouth and a crippling illness in her stomach. But what could she do?! She had intervened only to put Ellen in more danger, and the woman made it clear she didn't want help of any kind. Selah considered telling Haytham, since as a Grandmaster he could have anything done, but soon dismissed the idea. She couldn't see the man actually taking the time to deal with a domestic problem when he had so little of it. What would she say, anyway? The Assassin then pondered the possibly of killing the man, but knew that wasn't the way of the Assassins. They didn't let kill whoever they pleased. At least they weren't supposed to…

Thinking about her encounter resurfaced a memory that the teenager nearly forgotten, and it came back with a vengeance.

_"__Hey! Stop!" Selah roared._

_She looked down from the rooftops to see several gang members surrounding a young boy, the bag of groceries for his mother tossed away. Its contents were spilled over the clearing, a gangster hunched over it as he hungrily tore through it. Even at her yell, a gang member savagely kicked the boy's side, provoking a loud wheeze._

_Selah's fury poured into her veins. She had come by to rendezvous with the local gang to receive orders for her next mission, only to find several of its members harassing a civilian. The Assassins tolerated no such thing. The apprentice leaped from her perch to land directly behind them. The gangsters immediately whirled around, startled._

_"__I said leave him alone," Selah hissed darkly._

_"__Who are you to give us orders, little girl?" a gang member sneered._

_Selah had her hood down, wanting to feel the rush of wind in her hair during her freerunning. At the moment she knew despite her stunt, she looked too plain to the gangsters. Knowing the gang answered to the Assassins, she opened her mouth to tell him of her identity, but another member cut her off._

_"__This ain't your business, gurl," the man snarled. "Bugger off."_

_Before the Assassin could react, he grabbed her harshly and threw her to the ground. The gangsters only laughed at the spectacle. Selah's attacker turned back around to his previous victim, not noticing the teenager jumping back to her feet. She gave him a violent shove, sending him_ _slamming onto the dirt ground face-first. The gangsters yelled in surprise while the man quickly glared back up at her._

_"__That was a mistake, gurl," he snarled._

_Suddenly the group of men was upon her, almost all of them armed. The next several moments went by in a blur as Selah battled the thugs, defending against their attacks and sending them away with her own. Without warning a sharp pain came from her shoulder, making her cry. She glanced at it to see a river of blood staining her robes, a red slice reaching to her collarbone. The gang member's knife glistened with her blood, sneering maniacally while his goons cackled behind him. Selah braced to twitch her wrist to return the favor._

_"__ENOUGH!"_

_Immediately the fighters froze mid-stance, allowing a tall, dark shadow to fall from the buildings. James._

_Seeing this man _did _have a hood, the gangsters stumbled away from him as if he was Satan himself. Instead the Master Assassin stormed to his apprentice, wrapping a protective arm around her. Selah only stood and blinked, trying to return to reality._

_"__This girl is an Assassin and my apprentice," James informed in an unforgiving tone. "You will not lay a hand on her."_

_The man quickly snapped Selah's hood over her head, proving her position. Immediately it appeared all the gang members were experiencing a heart attack, their faces paling and bodies becoming rigid. They may as well have._

_"__Forgive us, sir!" a panic-stricken gangster wailed. "We had no idea!"_

_"__You do now," James retorted. He jerked his head. "Be gone."_

_The gang members vanished. Selah was forced to follow along as James spun her around, leading her away with his grip never leaving her. The teenager glanced over her shoulder, catching of a glimpse of the bleeding and bruised little boy curled into a ball, whose uncontrollable sobbing loudly reached her ears._

Selah had quickly brushed off the encounter, but now for some reason they were burning into her thoughts over and over, scorching her sanity. It was another instance where she had tried to practice her teachings, only for it to be fruitless. What was the point, then? Why had she received all of this training and still for it to be useless? But now that she rethought of the memory over and over, another aspect came to mind she never considered before.

James had defended only _her_, not the boy, who had started the entire quarrel. The boy was clearly an innocent—whom the Assassin sworn to protect—and it was clear he was being harassed by the Assassins' footmen. Shouldn't James had disciplined his subordinates that they were going against the Brotherhood's wishes? But the Master Assassin hadn't even spared the victim a glance, or even seemed to care. _Why_?

The teenager still tried to shoo her dark thinking away. Not only was it damaging her sanity, it was distracting her. Lately the Assassin had been holding her own against Haytham during their duels, but today she failed to follow through her forms. After chiding her multiple times, the Templar caught on to her glazed vision and took pity on her. Now the girl wandered to the outside courtyard, hoping the crisp, cold air would clear her head. It was a tragic mistake.

"Does being the Grandmaster's whore please you, Assassin?" Eleanor's voice came.

Selah glanced over her shoulder to see the other girl storming towards her, looking deadly. Even though the insult stung, the Assassin decided to ignore the redcoat by continuing on. She was in no mood for the wretch, especially now when a memory of James congratulating Liam O'Brien for disemboweling a British colonel and leaving him to burn flashing across her vison.

"Hey!" Eleanor snapped. "Look at me when I speak to you!"

"I don't take orders from you," Selah muttered.

"You insolent little—"

The redcoat's hand fell on the Assassin's shoulder. Immediately Selah's reflexes kicked in, having her reach up and snatch the intruder in a harsh grip. Eleanor gave a sharp gasp in surprise. Instead of breaking the Templar's fingers, Selah tossed the hand away. The Assassin spun around and leaped away. Now the two teenagers faced each other like two bristling cats.

"What is wrong with you?" Selah demanded.

Eleanor's gaze was burning. "_You_! I can't stand it, you prancing around like some giddy deer! You are nothing more than a rat—a _pest_!"

"Apparently not all you Templars share the same opinion."

Selah's kept her tone dull, but nervousness was quickly building in her chest. She had been hearing rumors from the Templars—mostly from Hickey and Johnson—that the Templar girl had been gossiping. Saying she was outraged an Assassin was receiving special treatment. Haytham overheard and guessed Eleanor was envious, considering the girl spent most of her time trying to keep her rank or gain her father's attention. When the frequency of the rumors only increased and Selah saw a red-faced Eleanor more and more, the Assassin dreaded a storm was coming. And that storm was about to break.

The girl glanced around the courtyard anxiously, looking for who would be her savior this time. For the first time since the Purge, Selah wished Shay was around and he came back from his trip. But she knew that wasn't the case. The Assassin suddenly saw a flicker of movement, only for her hopes to be dashed. She spotted a glimpse of young Robert staring at the teenagers with wide eyes before scurrying away. Selah couldn't think of it though before her attention was drawn back to Eleanor.

The teenager's eyes went red with fury. "And that's what I can't stand the most! You are nothing but the Grand Master's plaything! An _Assassin_! And why is Cormac your guard dog when he's supposed to be putting you _down_?"

Selah narrowed her eyes. So Shay _was _watching her before. And for some reason that irritated the Templar even more. Most likely because she was still humiliated that he had scolded her. Selah wanted to point out that the Irishman was gone, so he didn't own that position, but quickly thought better of it. Eleanor would be looking for any excuse to erupt. But the fact the redcoat still believed Haytham was taking advantage of her irked Selah to no end.

"Just go fuck yourself, Eleanor," the Assassin snapped.

The redcoat's eyes dilated. Without warning the other girl grabbed her harshly and threw her to the ground with surprising strength. Selah slammed the ground with a wheeze. She sensed Eleanor nearing to attack her, but the Assassin rolled over, wrapping her legs around the other girl's. The Templar fell with a yell. With swift agility, Selah leaped to her feet. By some miracle laid by God, there was an abandoned sword on a crate of cargo, probably left by some lazy soldier. But the Assassin was never so grateful in her life, not even caring about the weapon's weight.

Eleanor scrambled to her own feet, drawing her own sword. Immediately the weapons clashed. This time Selah was the stronger one, able to throw Eleanor's sword away. But the redcoat was quick, bringing back the blade in a blink of an eye. Selah blocked it with her sword and kept it in place. Little did she know that Eleanor fought dirty.

Before the Assassin could react, the Templar sent a violent kick to her kneecap. Selah crumbled with a yell, allowing Eleanor to shove the sword away. The soldier swung to slice the teenager's neck, but Selah had the sense to roll away. Eleanor gave a growl of frustration while the Assassin climbed to her feet. She sent another strike at the redcoat, only for the Templar to parry it. The duo sent attacks back and forth, never breaking the other's defenses and always expertly parrying any attack.

Finally Selah forced Eleanor's sword downwards, the scraping of metal splitting her ears. Before Eleanor could react, the Assassin elbowed her jugular, sending the Templar backwards. The teenager then twisted the blade to shove Eleanor to the ground, tossing her weapon away. Adrenaline and fighting instincts still racing through her veins, Selah thrust her sword towards her opponent—

"Enough!"

Selah's blade stopped an inch from Eleanor's chest. Instead of the materializing shadow of James, Selah glanced over to see Haytham on the edge of the courtyard. Captain Pitcairn was by his shoulder with his son clinging to his leg. Major Mallow was lurking behind them. While the older men wore somber masks, including Haytham's stone-like expression, Robert wore a look of fear. It took several moments for Selah's racing mind to process that the young boy had gone to retrieve the adults for help.

The two teenagers heaved for breath and a fine layer of sweat covered them both. Selah's eyes were lost in a haze, oblivious to Eleanor's shock and fear directed towards the sword floating over her. Although that quickly changed to controlled fury and humiliation. She knew who had won.

Selah flinched away when without warning Haytham stormed towards her, even dropping her sword. However the Grandmaster stopped short of her, wedged between her and Eleanor. The tall man still towered over her, making the girl want to shrink and she tried not to squirm under his analyzing gaze. Suddenly the Templar's eyes fell on something and he grumbled.

"Your arm…"

Selah followed his gaze to glance down at her forearm. A thick trail of blood poured from a slit from her sleeve. The Assassin blinked. When did she even get that? She didn't even feel pain. She looked back up when Haytham grumbled again.

Apparently judging his coat was too valuable for destruction, Haytham found a handful of Selah's undershirt and ripped a piece of fabric off with a single tug. Selah winced, but didn't dare say a word as the Templar used the makeshift bandage to wrap around the bleeding wound.

"Keep a better eye on your child, Master Mallow," Haytham hissed as he worked. Selah blinked. He was angry at his subordinate?

Mallow's jaw clenched while he stared directly ahead. After a long moment, he affirmed through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir." However the commander immediately glared at his daughter, making the redcoat flinch. Selah knew he was not pleased with the humiliation, and there would be a long talk ahead for Eleanor. And apparently there was one in store for Selah, as well.

Haytham gently gripped her arm and turned her around, but his voice was stern with little patience. "Come."

* * *

><p>"So my training isn't excitable enough for you?" Haytham demanded.<p>

"She attacked _me_!" Selah retorted.

"And you almost killed her!"

"It was for defense!"

Must they have another argument? Over another thing that was so fruitless? Especially _this_? Selah knew she was in the right. Everyone in the fort knew how dreadful Eleanor was! But Haytham just glared at her with fury, obviously not pleased. Now what?

"Would you have killed her?" the Grandmaster wanted to know.

Selah raised her chin. "I suppose we'll never know."

Haytham's gaze only narrowed at the retort and his tone lowered to a dangerous tone. "Do _not _play smart with me."

"And don't scold me for being in the right. We both know if Shay was here, he would have done the same, and he would be spared of punishment."

"What does Shay have to do with anything?"

Selah narrowed her eyes. "Eleanor told me you had him watch me before."

"I still fail to see how that relevant, but yes, I requested Shay to keep an eye on you. And from what I'm told, he did quite well."

"Then did he tell you about what Eleanor tried to do before?"

Haytham's eyes narrowed in confusion. "He only mentioned some girls were giving you trouble."

"_Your _girls. Eleanor and Gillian."

The Templar raised an eyebrow. "I had nothing to do with that."

"I know you didn't. They insulted you, after all."

Immediately Haytham's eyes widened and Selah clenched her jaw shut. She didn't mean to mention that.

"Oh? And what did they say of me?" Haytham drawled, his voice filled with fake interest.

Selah had no desire to tell him. If he was angered at his subordinate for lack of control, she didn't want to see his reaction to his footmen gossiping about him. And the comments were more for the purpose to mock her, which the Assassin could take. Dammit, why did she have to bring it up?

The girl looked away and mumbled, trying to undo her mistake. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Suddenly her head was being tilted upwards to look into Haytham's stern gaze, his fingers under her chin. "Tell me, Selah."

The teenager swallowed, realizing she had no choice. She tried to keep her voice above a mutter. "T-they said I was just a trophy to you—a plaything." She could feel his muscles tensing just with his fingertips. A muscle in his jaw clenched, but he tried very hard to hide it. "That was the only reason you didn't have me killed."

"Do you believe them?"

"At first I did. But not anymore, even when Major Mallow said I shouldn't had lived."

"He threatened you?"

Now the Grandmaster's voice was lined with strict annoyance. Selah knew she was sailing into deadly waters, but learned a very long time ago that lying and refraining information from Haytham did no good. But she didn't dare say a word as she nodded slowly.

Haytham cursed. "Mallow…" The man glared at an interesting spot on the wall. "I will speak with him."

"Haytham, no!" Selah protested.

"He cannot get away with this. And I'm not pleased with his daughter, either."

"You will only give them more fuel to use against me. And if they insulted you just for showing mercy, what will they say when the Grandmaster abuses his subordinates over a prisoner?"

"As long as I am Grandmaster, they will have no say. And for the thousandth time, y—"

"_I know_, Haytham," Selah interjected. "But to the other Templars I still am."

"Then we'll have to remedy that, won't we?"

Selah shook her head. "You can't defend me, Haytham. It will do nothing. I was trained to take care of myself—and I can do that."

Finally a smirk curled Haytham's lips. "Is that why you're starting fights? To prove that to me?"

"No."

"Then why did you throw around a poor man on the street a few days ago?"

Although Haytham had asked it curiously, Selah's heart stopped as if it had been stabbed. "H-how did you?"

The teenager couldn't finish her sentence, but the Templar understood her meaning. He answered calmly, "I have numerous sources all over the Colonies. Nothing passes me."

"Y-you didn't tell me you knew."

Haytham shrugged. "He was described to be a drunk. I assumed he was pestering you. I didn't want to wound your pride, and as you say, you proved yourself independent."

"It wasn't me he was pestering…"

Haytham raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Suddenly Selah felt uncomfortable. Haytham had mentioned the incident to point out her disobedience, but the teenager had only felt horror. She looked straight at the ground, no words forming on her tongue and body refusing to obey her. Even though, she sensed Haytham shift and narrow his eyes at her.  
>"In fact, this was while you were running my 'errand' for me. I thought we agreed you would stay out of trouble." There was a pause as the man shifted closer. "What happened, Selah?"<p>

Finally words came out of Selah's sputtering mouth. "H-his wife."

Haytham raised an eyebrow, signaling for her to continue.

"The man was attacking his wife."

Immediately the man's eyes narrowed. "What?" It came out as a dangerous growl.

"I turned him away, but Ellen said there was no end to his violence."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Selah sputtered again. She looked back at her feet, trying to hide her shame. She did very poorly. Instead of feeling the brush of Haytham's fingertips on her chin, she felt his soft skin against her cheek and his palm pressing against her face.

"Selah," he whispered softly.

The girl trembled. "I-I didn't want to be burden to you."

"Why?"

"Because that's all I have been. I was a burden to the Assassins—which is why they are dead. Now am I the same to you."

"You really think this is all your fault?"

Selah gritted her teeth, trying to fight the water forming in her eyes. She failed to stop a tear from escaping and the pathetic whine that followed. "I could have saved them. James is dead because of me."

If she had been stronger, braver, she could have made a difference. Instead she ran away. Now she was doing the same thing—being a weak little girl who was trying to hide her problems. She could barely hold her own. She didn't deserve to be called an Assassin.

Her thoughts were cut off as suddenly she body lurched forward, her face buried into the cloth of Haytham's coat. His strong arms were tightly wrapped around her back in a stubborn embrace. Selah had to wrap her arms around Haytham's sides for support, but felt no haste to remove them. She felt his chin resting on her hair.

"You're more foolish that I thought," he scolded in a sassy tone, though it was quickly replaced by the gentle voice of a parent. "You did nothing wrong. You are here, now, alive. And I will keep it that way." Selah said nothing, only closing her eyes and absorbing the man's rare warmth. "I _will _speak with Mallow. And although domestic affairs were more Monro's specialty, I have plenty of resources to handle a miscreant on the streets." The Templar's hand stroked Selah's back. "I'll take care of it, my dear."

How he said it sounded nothing like he originally did. Perhaps at first he kept her at an emotional distance, but now he had no such luxury. He had opened his Order and his home to her. Now he had opened his heart. Selah's tightened her grip around him, not wanting to let go or ruin this rare affection. She too failed to keep her defenses walled during their time together.

However the girl pulled back, but only slightly so she could talk without it being muffled. "Even if you speak with Mallow, it won't fix anything."

She felt him smirk with a soft snort. "I suppose I'll have you run a few more errands, then. Maybe Mallow will warm up to you if you prove yourself more useful."

* * *

><p><strong>I hope that chapter came across okay and not too random, especially the fight with Eleanor. But several points needed to be address, and this is what I decided on. Selah and Haytham needed to hug and an emotional conversation and the best way to do that was a fight. But, eh, I'm worried it was too cheesy. Let me know what you thought of it.<strong>


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